


Synesthesia

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artistic Sensibilities, Artists, F/M, Homophobic Language, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson is an art teacher at McCornica’s School in Ohio when there is a new music teacher in town. Beyond the friendship that sparkles between them, Blaine finds himself inspired to paint again, inspired by the colors and patterns this new teacher awakens in himself. When a storm forces them to work in the same environment, they decide to see a silver lining and come up with a performance, for both their students and the school’s board</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bernini, Michelangelo and Da Bologna

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: brief moments of homophobia and homophobic slurs, memories of gay bashing (blink and you’ll miss it though) 
> 
>  
> 
> Art history and painting are two very important components of my life, and Synesthesia inspired by music is the oxygen of my own paintings. I may mention artists or artistic movements that not everybody is familiar with - feel free to hit my ask box on tumblr (same username) if you have any question !

Blaine is overjoyed that September is back.

He likes his vacations just as much as any of his colleagues, but to go back to work, that’s what he loves.  
In all honesty, it’s the rush of getting back on the saddle and ready for classes that makes him love his field so much: as he prepares the materials and the slides (making sure that, for once, none of them is upside down), Blaine can already picture his students’ faces and he just knows that his efforts won’t be in vain.  
Truth be told, Blaine cares quite a lot about the impact he’ll have on all of his students.  
His second graders, who beam at him whenever they get a gold star on a drawing or whenever they answer a question correctly (or basically just behave like good little human beings really).  
His sixth graders, who give him their undivided attention when he explains how to use perspective for the first time.  
Finally, the eighth graders, on the verge of high school who already try to act like the adults they are about to become. They lose their jaded, would-be-cool look though, when Blaine starts talking about the different modern and contemporary movements, as he explains how the different styles and schools of painting can provide a medium for them to express their inner world.  
Even if he is not supposed to have favorites, Blaine always looks forward to those classes, seeing something of his past self in the teenagers-- even if that past is not that far yet.

That’s probably why, for the past five years, Blaine has been the favorite of many students at McConica.  
His title may be up for grabs though: last June at the last staff meeting, Mr. Sterling had announced that he was getting married and that he was moving to Alabama with his wife. That means only one thing: a new music teacher, who might be just as involved as Blaine is.  
He’s super excited, not only because this might mean a new friendship, - God, he sounds like his young students - but because this might mean a new approach to music. He may not be on stage anymore but his love for music still runs deep, even if only in the privacy of his mind.

“Where did I put those damned slides?” Blaine mutters to himself for the fifth time this morning-- he has to be at the school in twenty minutes if he wants to have the time to set the room to his liking and he just can’t find the slides he needs to use to set the proper mood for the year to come.  
Standing in his living room that looks like it has been devastated by a tornado, Blaine tries to go back in time to locate the packet of slides. Let’s see: last night after dinner he started organizing them just before a strike of inspiration hit him and he went to-- Blaine lets a shout of victory as he takes the sheet of slides from under his painting shirt in the cupboard he calls his studio these days.

And even if he doesn’t need those before the last period with the “older” students, only now does he feel like he can go to work.

\--

As he sets the tables in a circle for his first period, Blaine listens to the sound of children entering the school grounds and smiles to himself.

He can’t actually listen to a precise conversation but the background noise is comforting, it’s home, it’s one of the main reasons he loves his job.  
It sounds like warm colors, brushed in quick, successive strokes, building a mosaic as messy as the different conversations taking place outside of his class combined, but still lovely if one takes the time to put some distance between it and ones perception.

Blaine is standing by his desk, looking over the small tables and the little smocks waiting for them on each chair with a deep feeling of satisfaction when the bell rings. His kingdom is ready - he is ready for the oncoming storm.  
Speaking of the little devils, he can hear them lining up outside of the door. His younger students try to behave like their parents instruct, but there is a faint buzz of excited chatter that reaches him through the door.  
As he opens the door, his own smock firmly tied behind his back and his tie in his desk’s drawer, Blaine watches the look of wonder on the children’s faces as they enter the room and realize that they are about to enter a room dedicated to painting and drawing and sculpting their hearts content.  
Here lies the inherently endearing quality of these kids in Blaine’s opinion: their natural passion for his subject. No matter how many times they draw a house, or a dog, or a flying cow, every picture is their masterpiece - and he feels the same way.  
With his second graders, Blaine has to focus on them having fun without it ending in a fight over someone copying a piece or stealing the last functioning yellow felt pen or the last piece of blue mosaic. He also likes to try to give them a different point of view on the different subjects they go over with their main teacher.  
Speaking of which, the fact that Tina herself, as she accompanies the children, is looking at the room with wide, curious eyes only shows him how perfectly he succeeded in his preparations.

When the children reach the tables, excitement shines in their eyes. The few parents who decided to hover at the door look on with curiosity at the different materials he has set up for their kids. All the different shades of freshly wet clay--from ochre to deep brown, the finely ground pigments, piles of round pieces of slate and random shapes of wood sit in neat rows waiting for the kids to experiment with them.

Blaine walks back to stand by his desk, waiting for the kids to settle down and put on their protective smocks. He waits for curiosity to win over their need to chat before clearing his throat.  
“Good morning class!” he says cheerfully, all the little faces turning to him.  
“Good morning Mr. Anderson” they reply, the chorus of young voices chime back like bells. It makes him think of little drops of blue and silver on a sandy background.  
“Now, you may all wonder what is sitting on your tables” he continues, only to be stopped by a hand raised in the air. There it is, the little student who wants to show him that he or she is the smartest of them all-- boy or girl, Blaine tends to call them his Hermione.  
Looking at the name on his smock, Blaine smiles and gives him his complete attention. “Yes, Markus? Do you know what those are for?”  
The redheaded boy stands up-- not that it makes much of a difference-- and clears his throat. “We’re going to do cavemen art, right Mr.. Anderson?” he says, his clear voice turning it into a question by the end of his sentence. All his classmates look at him as a bright blush spreads on his freckled cheeks. Blaine finds him adorable and smart (the little lisp Markus has on his last name doesn’t hurt in the adorable section) and nods approvingly as the little boy sits down with a proud smile on his face.  
“Exactly” he replies as he takes a gold star out of the sticker sheet in the pocket of his apron and places it in front of Markus. “We’re going to go through what cavemen did to create Art” he explains walking between the chairs. “They used what they could find - dirt, leaves, animal bones” he adds, waiting for some of the kids’ expected sound of disgust-- there it is-- before he continues. “No bones in this class, trust me. They painted and sculpted what they saw around them, unknowingly giving us a glimpse of what their lives were like. Wouldn’t it be fun to do just that?” he adds, earning enthusiastic shouts from the whole room.

Except for that one little girl who is looking at the pile of clay with fearful eyes.

Blaine walks closer to her and squats to get at her level. “What is it” he pauses to look at the name on her smock ”Alicia?” Her long black hair covers most of her face, in spite of the hairband she has on her head, and she whispers something Blaine doesn’t quite catch.  
Luckily, Blaine knows how to deal with shy kids. His time leading study groups in college gave him the skills to get the quietest out of their shell. He squats a little bit closer. “You don’t have to use the clay, you know” he says quietly, pulling the pieces of slate closer. “You can work with those instead, make a mosaic?” he suggests.  
The little girl turns to him and pushes her hair back in a delicate, very mature motion, her eyes darting from the blue-grey stones to him. “I won’t get dirty?” she asks softly and Blaine looks behind her, at a woman with the same dark hair standing nearby who nods at him.  
Blaine turns back to Alicia. “You should be safe with the slates” he says with a comforting smile. “But just in case, do you want me to find you a pair of gloves?”

As a smile stretches her lips for the first time since she entered the classroom, Blaine sends a mental thank you to one of his teachers back in college who had explained that a good teacher is one who prepares his classroom by expecting the worst and hoping for the best.  
“Everybody, put on a pair of gloves and make sure that you have your smock on before you start working!” he tells the class, earning a couple of approving nods from the parents still scattered in the classroom. He gets a thank you mouthed by a very pregnant mother.  
If he can have the parents on his side of the battle, it’s totally worth the hassle of helping the kids put on their gloves.

\--

Blaine doesn’t hear about the new music teacher until his afternoon break, but boy does he hear about him.  
As Blaine waits for his coffee to finish brewing, his friend and colleague Mercedes comes to gush about the mysterious man. "Oh you haven't seen him? That Hummel guy is so handsome," she says in a conspicuous tone. "I don't know how he ended up at McConica when he could be off modeling in Paris“.  
Blaine frowns jokingly at her. “Aren’t you engaged? To my best friend?” he points out with a smile, which earns him a smack on the shoulder.  
“You know I would never cheat on Sam, you jerk” Mercedes replies, a blush spreading on her dark skin. “That doesn’t mean that I can’t, you know, appreciate a truly beautiful specim--” she cuts herself short with a squeak as the door opens.

Blaine wants to turn around and gawk at the new teacher who is evidently in the doorway, he really does, but he feels like it would be rude and not a good introduction. Instead, Blaine smooths his tie, pours two cups of coffee and then turns to give the newcomer a proper hello.

His breath catches in his throat as he takes the man before him, his lips slightly parting.  
His figure speaks of a delicate strength, reminding Blaine of Renaissance sculptures like Bernini's Apollo, with the sensuality of Michelangelo’s Dying slave, the title of the piece bearing no meaning in his feelings toward it.  
Looking up, Blaine can associate his face - and particularly his strikingly sharp jaw - to Da Bologna’s angels.  
He eventually tries to pinpoint the color of the man’s eyes, using his entire palette. Hard as he tries though, he can’t find the proper mix in his paint set that would allow him to recreate the cerulean, greenish grey hue.  
It’s not the first man that Blaine sees that he finds attractive, but it’s probably the first time he feels like pulling all his Art history books to find the proper way to describe him.

It takes Mercedes nudging him to bring him back to the present. He blinks a couple of times to focus on his surroundings. Surroundings that include Mr.. Hummel being much closer than he was when Blaine lost himself in his thoughts. From this close, Blaine can see that cerulean doesn’t exactly fit but maybe Bondi blue?  
Blaine smiles shyly at him.  
“Kurt Hummel, let me introduce you to Blaine Anderson. He teaches Art at our beautiful school,” Mercedes says.  
Kurt. Kurt Hummel. He rolls the name around in his head a few times, mentally sounding out the t at the end of his first name. He likes it. He likes it a lot.  
“Nice to meet you Blaine” Kurt says with a smile; he starts holding his hand out to shake Blaine’s, but quickly drops it when he spots the two coffee mugs in Blaine’s hands. “Is that coffee?” he asks, sounding hopeful - and a little bit craving.

Unfortunately, Blaine is somewhere else entirely.

 

Kurt’s voice sounds like lilac drops falling on a peaceful Chartreuse lake, drops that create a whirlwind of the richest browns. The picture makes Blaine dizzy and he doesn’t know nor understand what it is in this man that makes him more attuned with his creative side but he doesn’t want it to end.  
"Y-yeah" Blaine stammers, raising one mug toward Kurt. "Here, I hope you drink it black" he adds, mentally slamming his own head against the countertop - how can he be such a babbling fool? Where did his vocabulary go?  
Kurt is still smiling as he takes the mug and walks to the counter, pouring some milk in it. “I usually add some cocoa and cream in my coffee, but this will do perfectly for now - Thank you Blaine” he adds as he raises his mug in a toasting gesture. Blaine smiles back before finding some comfort in his own drink - the man is beautiful and charming, but nothing will distract Blaine from his afternoon coffee, especially since he needs his energy for the last period’s class.  
“How long have you been teaching here?” Kurt asks, leaning against the table - Blaine makes a mental sketch of the perfect contrapposto in his stance, as he keeps in sipping his coffee.  
“Five years now,” Blaine answers with a fond smile as he thinks of his years of teaching in the school, “and I have to admit, McConica has been more dedicated to their Arts program than I initially thought” he adds while Mercedes pats his arm to take her leave.  
The smile she gives him makes him frown slightly, but he focuses on Kurt when he lets out a chuckle. “Good thing for me too then” he says, raising his mug toward Blaine, who wastes no time into lightly clinking their cups.  
“To the Arts” Kurt says with a smile that reaches his Agate eyes - yes, that’s it, that is the right gem to describe their incredible color.  
“To the Arts” Blaine echoes as he feels a blush creeping up his neck.

\--

The fun thing about his first lesson with the 8th Graders is that they kind of do the same thing as the younger ones he teaches in the morning, working on Prehistoric Art. Following his plan for the year, they should go through Art History with his slides during the first month to give them the theoretical knowledge they will need to create their major project for the upcoming year.  
Of course, he can go a little deeper than he did in the morning, explaining the moral issues the first men and women tackled with their art, how religion became a concept at the same time that Art was born.  
In the semi-darkness of the classroom, Blaine pays attention to who is taking notes and who is scribbling in their notebook, who is paying attention to him and the slides and who is playing with his phone under the table.  
“Mr. Taibeh” he calls, making one lanky teenager jump in surprise, “please keep your phone away for what remains of our period” he instructs, keeping his voice from rising since it’s not by shouting that he’ll educate his students.  
The teenage boy twists his mouth - since that’s the best apology Blaine will get, he takes it - and puts his phone back in his pocket.  
“Now, as I was saying,” Blaine continues, his eyes looking at the class, “Cave painting, or rupestral art, can take two developments:petroglyphs, when the pattern is etched in the stone, or literal paintings, with powdered pigments blown on the surface through an empty bone or a piece of reed.” he explains, changing the slide to a picture of a workshop of children doing exactly that. “The most famous example of cave paintings in North America are in the Mojave Desert, in Coso Grande” he continues, stopping when a hand is raised.  
“What is it, Ms. Marton?” he asks as he spots the “owner” of said hand, a quiet girl with large glasses and ink spots on her left fingers, her notebook filled with notes.  
“Wasn’t music invented at the same time, Mr. Anderson?” she asks softly yet confidently and Blaine is impressed with her question.  
“As a matter of fact, it probably was” he starts replying, turning the projector off before he walks to turn the lights back on. “The oldest instrument ever found by archeologists was a vulture bone flute in Germany and it was estimated to be 35,000 years old” he explains, watching some of his students nod, impressed by these little bits of trivia Blaine collects like stamps. “But you will have to ask Mr. Hummel for more details, I’m afraid that music history is not my forte” he adds with a smile. Julia Marton looks up from her notes and mouths a “thank you” at him just as the bell rings.

Blaine is fortunate enough that his students don’t rush out of his classroom like they’re possessed and wait for him to let them go. “Okay guys, next time we’ll jump to the Antique World - Greeks, Romans, Etruscans and Persians!” he says, raising his voice to cover the racket made in the halls.  
The teenagers pack their bags and leave, some girls wishing him a pleasant evening with a blush on their cheeks, and he stays alone in the room for a moment.

All things considered, this has been a good first day; he can already see what points he will have to be more detailed on with his batch of students, what subject might interest them, which students might be the ones he has to work with on different level - it’s a habit he has, to make a list of the things that he has to improve or simply needs to work on during the upcoming year.

However, his mind is wandering back to the music teacher, no matter how hard he tries to focus on his lesson plan.  
Beyond the physical attraction that he can’t possibly deny having for his new colleague, Blaine feels like this meeting has awakened something in him -- something he has put on the sides for a long time now.  
It’s not that he doesn’t paint anymore, far from it - he was in his studio just last night, after all - but he hasn’t let inspiration invade all of his senses since he started teaching, now that he takes the time to think about it.

As he gathers his jacket and messenger bag, Blaine wonders if he should paint the different visions (he really needs to think of a better word to describe his bouts of synesthesia) he got during the day or keep them in his mind for a little while longer, to give them the time to develop and blossom into something a little more accomplished. He’s so deeply immersed in his thoughts that he misses the man waiting for him outside of his classroom.  
“Blaine?” Kurt calls as he walks to where he’s standing and Blaine looks up like he just woke up, his eyes finding the taller man’s and he can’t help the smile that stretches his lips.  
“Kurt, hi!” he replies, falling into the same walking rhythm as Kurt as they walk down the hallway. “Were you …” Blaine pauses, hesitating, but he needs to be sure, “were you waiting for me?” he finally asks, willing his blush to just go away - not that it works very well, but he can tell himself that he tried.  
He feels better, though, when he notices a slight coloring to Kurt’s cheeks. “I was, actually,” Kurt says, looking at him sideways, “I--I was wondering if you would mind, maybe, or if you would like, that is, if you don’t have anything planned, to go for a cup of coffee so we can talk about the school, and what I should know about the secret politics between the teachers and simply talk because we are both involved in the arts and I just came back in Ohio and -” Kurt says, and Blaine smiles softly as he realizes that the other man is rambling, his words tumbling out of his mouth with a shyness behind them and a nervousness that Blaine knows all too well - he just didn’t expect Kurt to feel like this too.  
Maybe that bodes well for whatever could exist or come to life between them?  
As it is, Blaine should save Kurt from his own words before he starts needing oxygen. “I’d love to” he says, effectively cutting Kurt short and the other man smiles gratefully. “I know just the place, it’s right around the corner” he adds as they start walking again.  
Kurt smiles at him, and how is it possible to have so many different smiles? “Lead the way”.

\--

Once they’re seated with their drinks in the little coffee shop at the crossroads near the school building, Blaine starts talking about his time at McConica.  
He finds it surprisingly easy to talk to the other man about the few years he has spent as an Art teacher there, about the different combinations of relationships that take place between the staff members and about how much he loves his job.  
On the other hand, he finds himself holding back on so much more:he doesn’t speak of his long nights spent sitting in front of a canvas, waiting for his brain to give the proper command to his hand to bring his inner world to life;more importantly, he doesn’t speak of the paintings Blaine has been thinking about since he looked at Kurt for the first time.  
It’s not that he doesn’t trust the other man, far from it actually:Blaine is terrified by the depth of his trust for someone he barely knows.

Later that night, while he tries to fall asleep, Blaine thinks that he’s keeping that part of him from Kurt because it’s the kind of things you don’t share with a stranger, not matter how literally inspirational he might be. It’s the kind of things you share with someone you share a deep connection:a best friend or a lover-  
All of a sudden, Blaine is hit by a double wave of loneliness and inspiration. Sighing, because he really should try to sleep, he stands up to go to his studio.

Recalling his conversation with Kurt, Blaine focuses on his memories of the man’s unusual voice, on the colors it brought to mind, on the patterns he could associate with the fluctuation of his tone or with the movements of his hands as he spoke. He puts a new canvas on his worn out easel and starts layering hues of whitened orange, the color he always uses when he is in this mood - lonely but not desperate for companionship, simply realizing that he’s alone, - letting the brush’s hair draw some pattern as he applies thicker and thinner strokes on the canvas.

Painting feels a lot like therapy for Blaine - and he should know, since he’s been in an actual therapy ever since he left his parents’ house - in the sense that it allows his brain to catch up with his subconscious. The impulse to start a canvas is more random than Blaine can really count, but when he’s done - whether it’s a matter of hours or a matter of days - he’s always surprised by the idea or the emotion that it has helped to bring to the surface.

Blaine is conscious of his own limitations, particularly of his tendency to be oblivious to what people are trying to make him get without being explicit, and that’s a great part of his decision to dig into his artistic self:his paintings, his “children”, help him see what he doesn’t consciously see or understand.

As for this particular painting, it might end up being entirely abstract and Blaine takes his time, feeling that peace invading his senses as his brain lets go of what was troubling his mind.


	2. Pollock and Hantai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little view into Blaine and Sam's friendship ...

As the days pass, Blaine finds himself drawn to Kurt, to his personality. Beyond the first, primal artistic attraction, Kurt’s little quirks (one sugar and a half and a teaspoon of cocoa in his coffee, no more and no less, Blaine has learned his coffee routine by now), his passion for his field, the path that lead him to Athens and to McConica - all of what makes Kurt Hummel the unique human being he is today acts like a magnet to Blaine.

Every night, as he paints and draws the day’s fill of inspiration, Blaine feels like Icarus, flying closer to a Sun to feel more of that energy, even if he doesn’t think that Kurt will be his downfall. If anything, the closer to Kurt he gets, the more attuned to himself - to a part of his personality that he has kept quiet for a while - Blaine feels.

More than anything, it’s Kurt’s relationship with music that draws Blaine in.  
From their many discussions, Blaine understands that Kurt’s decision to become a music teacher didn’t come from a professional disappointment, the man’s journey belying the old saying about those who can’t becoming teachers. Quite the contrary actually:it feels like music is to Kurt what painting and drawing are to Blaine, a force pushing him forward, the rhythm behind the beating of his heart, an anchor in the storms life throws at them.

The parallels between the two of them really contribute in cementing their friendship, to the point where Sam asks him half-jokingly if he has been replaced as best friend.  
The idea itself is ridiculous:Sam is and will always be his “chosen brother”, the man who stood by his side as he recovered from being attacked when he was fifteen-years old, the man who held him and fed him tubs of ice cream as he went through his break-ups. Above all else, Sam is the one friend who never judged Blaine for deciding to focus on his painting.  
Blaine feels like there is an imbalance in their relationship as it is, and he tells Sam as such on one of their traditional Marvel Classics night at Blaine’s.

Sam looks at him with a fond smile before he hits him on the shoulder with the remote control. "When are you going to get in your thick head that friendship is not about owing something to someone else?" he tells Blaine and it sounds like a scolding. "You are my soulbro" Sam continues, his voice turning emotional, "the Cyclop to my Wolverine, the Professor X to my Magneto-"  
"Why am I the one with the lame powers and the wheelchair?" Blaine butts in, more to diffuse the emotional mood Sam seems to be in.  
“You shut your mouth about the wheelchair - it’s a battle scar” Sam retorts, “and that’s beside the point and you know it” he adds, poking Blaine in the chest relentlessly.

As they settle back on the couch, Sam puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “The point, dear bro, is that our friendship is epic and will be the stuff of legends in the years to come” he says seriously.  
Blaine smiles at him before he cocks his eyebrow. “May I point out, bro dearest, that you are the one who questioned the strength of our friendship?” he asks, mockingly haughty before letting his laughter get the best of him.  
“You’re an ass” Sam says with a smile.  
“You love me” Blaine replies instantaneously with a shoulder bump.

Sam rolls his eyes, looking at the opposite side of the room with a look of mock disgust on his face but from the corner of his eye, Blaine can see that he’s smiling around the bottle of beer he’s holding.  
Blaine is picking up the remote from the edge of the couch where Sam dropped it when Sam makes an interrogative sound. Blaine turns his head to follow his line of sight and he sees the upturned canvas he finished the night before.  
“New one?” Sam asks simply - after all those years knowing each other, Sam has learned to wait for Blaine to show him a new piece. When Blaine stands up with a shy smile, Sam is on his heels:if he gets to see it, it means that Blaine feels good about it.  
And if Blaine feels good about it, then Sam wants to see it -- simple as that.

Sam is surprised by more than one thing, once Blaine turns the canvas toward him.

First of all, it’s an abstract piece, like that painter that Blaine adores and that Ed Harris played in a biopic a couple of years ago - Jackson something? Sam always gets confused about the name of the painters, and since Blaine has a tendency to call them by their first names like they’re long lost friends, that doesn’t really help him.  
Second of all, Sam is used to darker paintings from Blaine. Not that his paintings are dark, per se, but his color range has a tendency to favor browns and dark green and shiny blacks.  
While this painting -- it’s light and summery, oranges, yellows and reds watered down swirls over layered with some soft spots of vivid green and electric blue that give to the whole composition a fun, bouncy feeling.

 

Sam can feel his lips stretching in an amused smile, but not in the sense of him making fun of his friend:he’s amused by the painting because that’s the vibe it gives.  
The more he looks at the canvas, the more Sam is reminded of the carnival fairs he used to go to as a child, of the musics and the smells of junk food and plastic. It makes him nostalgic, but in an upbeat way, somehow.  
He turns to look at Blaine, whose eyes dart from the canvas to him as he waits for Sam’s judgement.  
The thing is, Sam has no words - as a rule, he’s a man of actions more than a man of words but in this particular case, he feels like there is no word that would explain what this painting does for him.  
Plus, he knows how difficult it is for Blaine to show his paintings to someone else for the first time, even if it’s him, his chosen brother.  
So he acts on his impression and his feelings, and pulls Blaine in a fierce hug.

Blaine lets out a surprised laugh before returning the hug.  
There is no need of affirmation or confirmation or meaningless analysis on the subject:no matter what is building between Blaine and Kurt, his friendship with Sam is, as the man himself would say, the stuff of legends.

\--

The days turn into weeks, and Blaine is satisfied with the relationship he has with Kurt.  
Kurt is like a soulmate friend, and even if sometimes Blaine feels like his life has been turned upside-down on its axis, he wouldn’t want to go back to his Kurt-less life.

Kurt has brought his love for his own creation back into his life, and more importantly, he has renewed his love for music, buried for so long.  
Where he used to work in silence, letting the brushes against the canvas being the only soundtrack, Blaine has started bringing his radio with him, humming along the songs as he paints.  
Slowly, step by step, the music becomes an active part of his process and his pieces get musical titles. One of his later one becomes “D-flat” when he realizes that he let his subconscious chose colors dictated by Tchaikovsky’s “Concerto for violin #1”, which is written entirely in the aforementioned key.

In retrospect, Blaine really feels that it’s all due to Kurt.

As he talks with Kurt about his past, he realizes how deep his love for music really runs. In his recollection, he mentions that for a while, he was certain that his life would be centered around performing and singing; Kurt asks him what made him change, and he replies, without really thinking beforehand, that he didn’t really change - that he merely chose a different form of art to express himself because music came with too many restrictions.  
Later that night, in the darkness of his bedroom, Blaine contemplates his own words. He never actually meant to admit that to Kurt -- he doesn’t know what came over him.  
There is undeniably something about the other man that pushes him to be more honest - with himself, with others, with his loved and loving ones.

\--

One afternoon, Blaine is with the oldest of his students, teaching them about how some artists use their entire body to create, using the example of American artist Jackson Pollock and his trademark Dripping and French artist Simon Hantai and his folded canvas.  
It’s a subject he loves examining with the 8th graders because they’re old enough to understand what he means when he talks about the link to Shamanic ceremonies or the therapeutic effects of said technique, but still young enough that they can get excited about doing it themselves.  
Fine, he can admit it to himself:he likes having fun with his students when they get to the technical portion of the lesson.  
More importantly, since both artists have accepted to be recorded while in the midst of the creating process, he has the material ready to draw his young students in their universe.  
Both artists have a very physical approach to their art, turning the films into a riveting experience for all people watching, the perfect tool for a teacher in Blaine’s opinion.  
That being said, their approach is probably the only similarity between the two abstract painters’ creative process.

Where Pollock needs to drown himself in a drunken stupor that leads him to a hypnotic trance which doesn’t stop him from considering that there is no room for chance in his paintings, Hantai admits and accepts the part that Fates play in his own work and does everything he he can to control what he knows he can in the technique he has developed, which includes keeping his head clear from any substance.

Blaine has not picked those two by accident:by presenting them together, he feels like he’s being very careful in his teaching approach of the subject.  
Careful to make sure that his young, impressionable students don’t come to consider that alcohol and drugs are the only key to their big artistic revelation.  
Careful to teach them that abstraction comes in multiple ways and is more complex than it appears.

Once the films are over, Blaine asks the students to clear a large space in the middle of the room while he pulls out two rolls of canvas from one of the room’s closets.  
As he unrolls them, Blaine calls for the young students’ attention. “We can do this two ways, guys:I can split you in two groups and install a dictatorship in this room -” he cuts himself short to let the kids laugh at his eccentricity before continuing “Or I can decide to trust you guys to act like adults and let you decide who is going to which group” he says, opening his hands in a questioning gesture.

This tactic never fails: the teenagers feel empowered when they can sense that their teacher really has faith in them.  
In the first year of his teaching career, Blaine decided that he couldn’t ask his students, no matter how old, for their respect if he didn’t reciprocate.

Quickly, the class is divided in two pretty much balanced groups, right on time with Blaine finishing his preparation of the materials they are going to need.  
“Alright, fellas” Blaine says before pointing at one group - a fleeting thought about making his brother proud crosses his mind - “you are going to make your very own over-all Dripping à la Jackson Pollock while you” he continues, pointing at the second group, “are going to create your very own borderless Folding à la Simon Hantaï”.  
The students immediately start talking excitedly among their groups, but Blaine simply had to raise his hands to get a quiet assembly once again.

“Remember guys, I don’t want you to make a copy of those two artists’ work - I want you to come up with your own interpretation of their techniques. You have to keep a clear idea of the result you want to obtain in the end” he instructs carefully as he walks between the two groups, “Abstract painting is not about simply pouring paint on a canvas and call it a day” he adds, his students smiling and nodding at him.  
Invigorated by their positive reaction, Blaine continues. “Most importantly, I want you to work together as a group while also preserving your individual voices, your …” Blaine hesitates but one of his students raise his hand.  
“Yes Matthew?” Blaine says to the quiet metis boy with the dark hair and the startling green eyes.  
“Our munchness?” the boy suggests with a crooked smile and Blaine has to work hard to keep his enthusiasm at the offered word in check.  
“Exactly - thank you” he replies and Matthew blushes, his eyes dropping to his feet while his comrades clap his back. “Work as a cohesive group, but keep your munchness alive, alright?” he finally instructs to the class before bending toward the large jars of paint to push them toward the groups. “Naturally, I’m right here if you need me, to help you and guide you, but this should be your work so don’t try to rope me in your team” he finally says as he takes a step backward.

Sitting on the desk, Blaine looks at the two groups who are not rushing toward the jars, but instead pull notebooks and pens to make quick doodles of everybody’s ideas and goals in this challenge Blaine has made up for them.  
He takes the time to look at them and to let himself enjoy the moment. This is why he became a teacher, right there, encompassed in this classroom.  
The joy that his students give to him when he sees that, without a doubt, they understood both his lesson and what he expects of them comes right after the joy he gets when he sees a painting coming alive.  
He tries to explain that to Cooper, when his brother tries to change his mind and insists that he should focus on his painting and stop spending so much time on the “munchkins”, but he can’t change the way he feels - he can’t see himself stop being a teacher.

Lost in his thoughts as he is, Blaine doesn’t look at the classroom’s door. He doesn’t see that someone is observing the progression of the lesson.  
Someone with clear, greenish blue eyes that never leave Blaine’s movements.

\--

On the following lesson, Blaine divides the time he has with his class in two:one part dedicated to working on the paintings themselves, one part to discuss artistic collaboration - Jackson Pollock and Hans Namuth’s artistic relationship is actually the best way to introduce the idea of artists feeding each other’s creativity and photography.  
During the first part of the period, though, problems start to arise.  
Nothing he didn’t anticipate, but he could have appreciated to go without those issues.

He first deals with the technical problems, but those are easily solved.  
On the “Pollock team”, the whites turned a yellowish, unpleasant grey and, as his students explains with much vehemence and dramatics, the white being actually white is “quintessential to their collective vision”. Blaine shows them that they used the acrylic paint, layered on top of the other oil-based colors, which lead to a mixed up blending of the colors, hence the color transfer. Fedra, a short and energetic girl on the team, stands on her toes to smack a taller, jockish-looking boy on the back of his head.  
Blaine chastises her for her violent behavior - his own teenage years have left him unforgiving with any use of violence, physical or psychological, between students - before turning to the other group.

It seems like they have some troubles with the crumpled canvas, particularly trying to straighten it, since they left it to dry in a crumpled heap.  
Blaine spends some times explaining to them, in the softest way possible, that they should have watched a little more of the video, to see that Hantaï always straightened his canvases before it started drying.  
Then they proceed to get it set on the wooden frame, half the members of the team and Blaine working to keep it in place while the others nail it as quickly as they can.  
The teamwork helps to teach them that the only way to succeed is to communicate and keep on working together.

His teaching professor used to say that every class could be an opportunity for a life lesson; while Blaine often felt like she had watched “Dead Poets Society” one too many time, he still abides by this rule and keeps that as his educating path.

Blaine also has to face more complicated problems, ones that involve egos and personalities clashing and teenagers in general.

On paper, they have one more class after this one to complete their work - one week before the parents-teacher night - and like clockwork, this stage in their progress is the moment they choose to unleash their emotional selves.  
If the angry whispered conversations he can hear from both groups are any indication, that is.  
Blaine is 95% that he hears insults being volleyed between his students, and while he can’t stand that kind of behavior, he doesn’t want to sound and act like he’s interfering in their artistic differences.  
The line from “Chicago” pops in his head - what a beautiful clash of red and yellow that song is - and it pushes him to intervene before one of his kids ends up in Murderer's row.

“Time out, guys” he calls, raising his voice above the whispers while he positions his hands in the international gesture for a break. The students, spread into circles around their canvases, look up at him and stop talking.  
The way some of the Pollock teammates are holding the sticks he gave them to drip the liquid material onto the canvas is eerily similar to the way one would expect from sword-fighters (or Neanderthal holding clubs) and Blaine has to control himself from audibly gulping.  
“Let’s not kill each other, shall we?” Blaine tries to diffuse some of the tension with humor, and he can see a couple of students sighing with the beginning of a smile as they look at each other.  
Blaine doesn’t mind being the butt of their good-hearted jokes for a while if it means that they won’t bully each other.

Now is not the time for an afternoon special, but maybe he should launch on the second part of his program for today’s class.  
In Blaine’s mind, there is no doubt that watching artists overcoming their own ego to work together should influence his students and push them on the right path.  
He has no doubt, but he also has a lot of hope.

“I think it’s time for us to settle down - let the works breathe and develop in your minds before working on it” he instructs as he pulls the sticks from the hands of a couple of kids, “while we study in depth artists who applied the following motto” he continues, turning the blackboard to show the class what he wrote earlier, “one plus one can equal three”.  
Two teenagers - George and Edward, also known among the faculty members as the terrible lads - snicker and Blaine turns to them, a stern look on his face.  
His students smiling at him is one thing - openly mocking him is a totally different one.  
“Something funny, gentlemen?” he asks them as he crosses his arms on his chest. Blaine finds comfort in the fact that the majority of the other students look down at them. The two boys keep smirking at him but remain otherwise silent.  
Blaine shrugs. “Fine - since you seem to have so much fun, I’m sure you will be positively thrilled to stay within the school walls for two more hours after class” he says nonchalantly, though his tone of voice gets colder by the end of his sentence.  
The two boys try to protest but Blaine is already moving on.

“As I was saying, artists working together is a recurring phenomenon throughout Art history” he starts his lesson, pulling the slide machine. First up is a picture of Pollock and his wife Lee Krasner, taken by Hans Namuth in Pollock’s studio. “I’ve told you about the relationship that built between Pollock and his photographer, but one could consider the relationship he had with his wife just as productive” he explains, the remote for the slides in his hand as he walks between the tables. “Lee Krasner was a painter herself, exhibited and celebrated in multiple fairs, but she focused on supporting Pollock while he was alive, and on promoting his work after his death. She gave him advice about his technique, about the need to produce to keep their patrons at ease, about his drinking --”  
George whispers in his corner, loud enough for the whole class to hear him “More like nagging him, that b-” but Blaine cuts him off before he can dig his grave a little deeper.  
“Nebsit” he calls - nearly shouts, actually - “to the principal’s office, right now”

Blaine has to contain his anger as the young man passes in front of him to exit the room. There is plenty of hate on George’s face and Blaine doesn’t want to feed it further by showing his emotions.  
Right this second, Blaine wants nothing more than to be alone with a canvas to get all of this negativity out of him - it’s eating him like a poison and he can’t stand the feeling of it in his veins.  
Anger has a color of its own in Blaine’s palette, a greenish yellow that he made himself because he couldn’t find anything approaching, and that he named after the worst thing that ever happened to him.  
And that’s how he feels right now:he feels Sadie Hawkins.

Blaine takes a deep breath and turns to the shocked students. “Sorry about that, guys” he says with an apologetic smile and he’s relieved to see his students smiling at him. “Now as I was saying …”


	3. Gerald Davis - Parents Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the Parents-Teachers night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning : homophobic slurs, memories of gay bashing, panic attack

The weather suddenly changes, turning colder without a warning, giving Blaine the opportunity to discover the whole palette of Kurt's warmer wardrobe. The different textures and colors of his many, many scarves act as a new source of inspiration for Blaine and he welcomes it wholeheartedly.  
The shimmers of Kurt’s silk scarves induces watercolors in Blaine’s paintings, while the woolen ones, with their patchwork-like feels, drive him to try collages.  
With the Fall come the rain storms and the strong winds that shake the classrooms windows and make the younger students huddle at their tables. Blaine is often reminded of a puppy pile and he tries to show them that Art can be a source of comfort.

During the parents-teacher night, it appears that to some parents, it feels like he’s talking about Art therapy and they express their concern about him breaching such a sensitive subject. Blaine carefully explains that he’s merely giving the young ones tools to deal with the emotions that are sometimes too big for their little bodies.

With the parents of the sixth graders, the only opposition he’s met with is from the parents who fear that he’s going to convince their children that art is a more important subject than the more “respectable” ones, like English or Algebra.  
Parents like those are a fixture in Blaine’s path as a teacher, and to each of them, he says the same thing.  
The different subjects are complementary:by learning how to represent an apple or a bowl fruit, the kids are learning to use the 3 dimensions, to use the different figures they’re learning about in Geometry.  
By using his class as an outlet, they are able to focus a little bit more during their other classes, too, and Blaine has no qualms about reminding the parents that a balanced child needs a moment just for himself.

His real problems begin with the eighth graders’ parents.  
Particularly with one Mister Nebsit.  
Given the teenager’s attitude, Blaine should have seen it coming, retrospectively. But then again, retrospect is such a beautiful thing to ponder on.  
From the moment the man enters Blaine’s classroom, he radiates negativity so violently that Blaine has to force himself not to wince. Shaking hands with the parents he was talking with, Blaine turns to him.  
“Good evening, Mister Nesbit” he says, turning the Anderson charm on but his raised hand is met with only air and he quickly drops it before clearing his throat and returning behind his desk - it has never felt more like a barricade as it does in this moment.  
“I’m glad that you were able to come tonight, there are a lot of thing we need to dis-” he starts but Mr. Nesbit’s hands slamming on his desk stop him in his tracks.  
“Now listen to me Anderson” the man growls - or maybe it’s his natural voice, but either way, Blaine leans backward as a knee-jerk reaction - in his face, “I don’t care about what you may have to say about my son when it’s obvious that you’ve spread lies about him among the faculty!”  
The last words are shouted with lots of sputter and Blaine doesn’t hide his wince this time around.

“Pardon me?” he manages to say, crossing his arms on his chest and frowning at the man.

“All night, all I could hear was that my son was a disturbance, rude and improper with the female teachers, and George never had any problem before he got to your class” Mr. Nesbit says as an explanation and Blaine would laugh if he didn’t feel as threatened.

“And it didn’t occur to you that perhaps, your son really has a disruptive behavior that needs to change if he wishes to pursue his education at McConica?” Blaine asks rhetorically - and he kind of wishes he hadn’t followed the father’s path of aggression.  
The best part of him wishes that, at least - the other parts of him are cheering him on.

The man turns an ugly shade of red - one that would go perfectly with a mustard yellow to translate how this evening is turning into - before slamming his fist on Blaine’s desk. “Are you telling me how to raise my kid, you - you - you deviant?”  
Blaine lets out his breath at that, feeling like he has just been hit with an uppercut to the stomach. The parents in the room - oh goodness, people are watching this, Blaine feels a wave of brown disgust and shame going through him - gasp at the words chosen by the other man. Alas, this does nothing to alleviate Blaine’s anguish.

Blaine is too shocked to think of something to reply and that seems to feed the man’s anger. “We all know that you are a dirty faggot, trying to convert each and everyone of our kids, that you’re in cahoots with that fairy of a music teacher --”  
The mention of Kurt spurs Blaine awake from his mutism - he’s far better at defending those he cares about than himself - and he slams his own hand on the desk.

He’ll think about how much this hurts later - on all the levels.

“Get out of here before I call for security” Blaine says, his voice unwavering - a stroke of luck - and unyielding. “I get that you don’t know the first thing about homosexuality and that your ignorance is feeding your fear” Blaine continues, his voice taking a softer tone, “but I will not stand here and let you insult either my colleague or me while all of the faculty is trying to make you see that your son is obviously angry at something and taking it out on everybody available. Now go, and when you see everything that went wrong tonight because of your misplaced anger and rudeness, you can call my office to make an appointment” Blaine says, taking a step back, “I’m always available when parents want to discuss their child’s progress in my class”.

Mr. Nesbit looks at Blaine like he can’t believe what he just heard; he proceeds to look at the other parents in the room, looking for a support he doesn’t find, which leads him toward the door. Grasping the mantle, he turns one more time toward Blaine. “This isn’t over, you disgusting flamer” he growls at Blaine before rushing out.

Everybody in the room looks in shock and Blaine can feel his hands shaking.

Beyond the verbal aggression he just went through, beyond the questioning of his abilities as a teacher, Blaine has to face an unprecedented case of flashbacks from his beating all those years ago.  
Rain starts falling outside, and each drop of water hitting the windows seems to wake up his old pains, giving a rhythm to the memories invading his mind.

\-- Thought you could leave without being punished, faggot?  
Thought we wouldn’t teach you a lesson?  
Try to run and dance now fairy! --

Blaine puts his hand over his eyes for a moment, feeling dizzy with the shadow pain and one mother steps closer to him. She looks every bit of the motherly figure and she has a pained, sympathetic smile on her lips.  
“Are you okay, Mr. Anderson?” she asks softly and Blaine lets his hand fall from his face to look at her, to look at the two other couples waiting in the classroom.  
No matter how painful this has just been, Blaine knows that he has to power through it - he’s a professional, he has survived a physical bullying, surely he can overcome a verbal one.  
Smiling at the woman looking at him with concerned eyes, Blaine shakes his head a little to clear his mind from the parking lot of his nightmares.  
“I’m fine, thank you Miss Bapir” he says, his voice a little strained. “I think I just need a glass of water if you can wait for me here?” he adds, ending his sentence with a question to let them decide, though it’s not much of a decision.  
“Of course, dear” Ms. Bapir replies for them all, her hand hovering Blaine’s shoulder for a moment before she retracts it.

Blaine walks as fast as he can without turning it into a run toward the teachers lounge and slams himself against the door once he’s there, locking the door behind him.

His breathing is labored and Blaine fights against the panic attack rising in his throat. He feels – well, he’s a little bit confused as to how he feels, but his mind keeps on going back to a drawing he saw in a contemporary exhibition, by a British artist – Gerald Davis, he thinks it was his name.  
The drawing was in bright pink and white, but the subject was anything but bright as it depicted a young boy being bullied and attacked by two invisible persons, only their hands in the frame as they write “FAG” on the boy’s stomach.  
Blaine can’t help but feel like the combination of colors would be perfect to translate how he feels, his emotions clearer as he tries to think in terms of colors instead of words.

He does feel bright pink and white, like his skin has been removed and all is left of him is his muscles and his bones, like there is nothing to protect him from the outside world.  
He would add a splash of Sadie Hawkins in the mix, if only to translate the violence he feels running in his veins – oh, what he would give to make that sorry excuse of a man swallow his words with his fist, Blaine thinks as he grits his teeth together when he feels the handle of the door being moved from the other side of the door.

“Just a moment!” he calls, rushing to the sink to get a glass of water.  
“It’s only me” Kurt calls and Blaine feels a wave of coppery orange of relief washing all the anger and pain from his mind. Nevertheless, he takes the time to swallow the fresh water a couple of times before opening the door to let the music teacher in.

Kurt looks worried but he gives Blaine a small smile that could be read as pitying if Blaine didn’t know Kurt as well – he knows that it’s the other man’s way of showing his sympathy, his empathy even.  
“I heard you had something of a bad encounter with Nesbit Senior” he says, reaching for Blaine’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
The question is softly asked and it feels like a balm on the wounds the encounter has reopened.  
Blaine shrugs, trying to act cooler than he feels. “Oh you know, it’s not the first time I had to deal with a parent trying to excuse their child for misbehaving by attacking me” he says with a smirk, but the look on Kurt’s face tells him that his friend saw right through his act.

“Blaine”  
In this one word, Kurt says so many things.  
He says, “Don’t bullshit me”.  
He says, “I can read you like a book and I can tell you’re in pain”.  
He says, “You don’t have to pretend anything on my behalf”.

Blaine lets out a deep sigh. “Sorry” he whispers, letting his head drop to his chest. “It just – it brought back pretty bad memories” he adds, keeping his head bowed but trying to look at Kurt nonetheless.  
Kurt’s grip on his shoulder gets tighter, and his lips are barely a line on his face. “What did he do?” he asks, his voice colder than Blaine has ever heard it.  
Blaine shakes his head. “Nothing in particular, Kurt” he says, patting Kurt’s hand on his shoulder. “He was just acting like an homophobic moron, and it reminded me of things I’d rather - I’d rather forget” he explains as simply as he can, trying to keep himself in the state of calm he has managed to reach ‘but I won’t let it get to me - what’s in the past is in the past”.  
Kurt pulls him against him in a tight hug, his hands on Blaine’s shoulder and back. Blaine is shocked for a moment before he returns the gesture, his arms wrapped around Kurt’s waist.

“I’m sorry” Kurt whispers in Blaine’s ear and before Blaine can reply, Kurt leans backward, keeping his hands on Blaine. “I know that I don’t have anything to apologize for, technically, but I wish you didn’t have to go through that too” he rushes to say and Blaine frowns at him.

“You got - you got bullied?” he asks softly, incredulity seeping in his voice - Kurt is probably the strongest person he knows, surely people wouldn’t dare to attack him, would they?  
Kurt smiles sadly at him as he crosses his arms on his chest - Blaine immediately misses the comfort from his touch. “Do you mean, did the only gay teenage boy in his school with a high voice and an even highest sense of fashion and hygiene get bullied in High school?” he says with a sort of shrug of his shoulders.  
It’s Blaine’s turn to get a hold of his friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry Kurt” he says, trying to convey his support with everything he can.  
“It’s in the past” Kurt replies with a wave of his hand, and Blaine raises his eyebrows at him, waiting for the penny to drop. Kurt looks at him, frowns and then lets out a little laugh. “Fine, I suppose I get what you meant” he grumbles, his laughter still ringing in his voice.  
The sound, and the spots of magenta it produces in Blaine’s mind, makes him smile and feel better all over again, the previous negative emotions completely washed from his system.

Kurt comes to stand next to him to bump his shoulder. “You ready to go back in there?” he asks, his face once again showing concern for his best friend.  
Blaine smiles a little wider and nods. “I don’t suppose I can ask those poor parents to wait for me anymore” he says overdramatically, bringing a short giggle to Kurt’s lips.  
“Let’s go deal with them” he says clapping Blaine’s shoulder lightly, letting his hand rest between Blaine’s shoulder blades, “and we’ll treat ourselves with a well deserved drink afterward - something stronger than coffee” he adds, holding his hand up for what Blaine assumes is a high-five.

“Let’s do this” he says, clapping Kurt’s hand before walking toward the door with his shoulders squared and his spirit strengthened.


	4. Keith Haring and Madonna

Fall turns into Winter, and this one turns out to be the coldest, most violent winter Ohio has known in a long time.

When Blaine’s phone rings at 2 in the morning, he knows that it’s not going to be a piece of news he’s going to enjoy.  
Pushing the cover and the fluffy comforter off of him, Blaine blinks in the dark to avoid hitting his toes to the different pieces of furniture in his bedroom.  
The phone keeps on ringing, and Blaine gets more and more anxious.  
Shivering in the dark as the lights from the street glow in the apartment, Blaine picks up the receiver.  
“He-” Blaine clears his throat to sound a little bit more awake, “Hello?”

Very few people have Blaine’s home number: his parents, his brother, Sam and the school’s headmistress.  
Blaine lets out an inaudible sigh of relief when it’s the latter’s voice that speaks in the receiver.  
“Hello Blaine” Principal Augustin says in her deep, soothing voice, “sorry to call you at this time of the night. I hope I didn’t give you too much of a scare” she continues, her voice warm and patient as it always is - Blaine always thinks it has undertones of a lightly burnt Terre de Sienne. Yet there is an urgency in her speech that alarms Blaine instantly.  
“Any phone call after 10 PM scares me, Ma’am” he replies as he rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, trying to get a little bit more awake. “What’s going on? What can I-” Blaine starts asking, but he has to interrupt his tirade of questions to yawn, and the headmistress takes advantage of the break to cut in.  
“At ease, Blaine”, she says lightly with a small chuckle, “there is nothing you can actually do as it is, but since the situation will affect you in some capacity, I thought you needed to know what happened to the Gershwin Auditorium over the weekend”.

Blaine’s head snaps up: the auditorium is his second favorite place in the school - he loves sitting there in the dark, watching the students as they perform the plays and musicals and concerts they rehearsed - and it’s also Kurt’s kingdom.  
“What’s wrong with the Gershwin?” he asks, already knowing that he won’t like the answer no matter what.  
“An unusual amount of snow fell on the roof over the weekend and approximately one hour ago, the whole roofing structure collapsed over the area comprising the stage and the first rows of seats” she explains, a ruffle of paper telling Blaine that she’s reading from an official report.

“Did someone get hurt?” he asks, hoping - actually chanting in his head for a negative answer: he likes the school’s night guard. Edgar is a gentle man and a gentleman, built like a mountain grizzly.  
“Luckily, no one was in the building at the time” the older woman tells him with something of amusement in her voice, “though Mister Quinnet got quite a scare when he heard the noise the whole event produced - his words are that he sounded like the Four horsemen coming to announce the Apocalypse” she adds, and there is definitely a chuckle hidden in the depth of her voice.  
Blaine shares her sentiment and huffs a chuckle: this definitely sounds like something Edgar would say.

Then he frowns in confusion. “How does this unfortunate event affect me, Ma’am?” he inquires, failing to come up with an explanation - if anything, she should be on the phone with Kurt, not him.  
The principal lets out an embarrassed noise. “Well, you see, Blaine, I had to find an emergency solution for Mister Hummel and his lessons, and since you two are approximately the same age and both in artistic fields -”  
Blaine interrupts her. “You want us to share the classroom space” he states calmly. It’s not a question, it’s the only logical ending to her awkward explanation.  
“Ah, I knew you would understand” she says more enthusiastically, and before Blaine can protest or utter a single word, she wishes him a good night and hangs up.

Blaine lets himself fall on the chair nearby, sitting with his phone receiver in his hand and stays like that for a solid minute.  
It’s not that he minds sharing the space of his classroom - particularly with Kurt; if anything, he thinks that this could be a good opportunity for giving his classes a support, especially for the more contemporary artists.  
Oh, to do a lesson about Andy Warhol and having Kurt and the school choir club working in parallel on the Velvet Underground!  
No, the thing Blaine is really worried about is how his - how their students will manage to focus on their respective work with the others being around.  
Personally, Blaine strives to paint with music, but he knows that it’s not the case for everybody.

For now though, he will focus on going back to sleep, if only to keep his youngest students to see him looking like a zombie.

\--

The next morning, even though he doesn’t feel like he really got his sleep back after the Principal’s call, Blaine remembers to go to the coffee place on the corner before entering the school, picking up his large coffee drip and Kurt’s order - something tells him that they both are going to need it in the upcoming day.  
As it turns out, Blaine barely has the time to take off one glove with his teeth and one turn of his scarf from around his neck before getting the full brunt of Kurt in a nervous breakdown; luckily, it’s early enough that the hallways are filled with only members of the faculty, all looking at the two of them with sympathetic smiles.  
Apparently, no secret stays secret at McConica.

“Blaine!” Kurt shouts the moment he sees it, the tall man breaking into a run to reach Blaine more quickly.  
Kurt wastes no time to grip Blaine’s forearm and a short whining sound escapes his lips. “What are we going to do?” he bemoans and Blaine has to smile at his friend’s antics.  
Somehow, he manages to balance the two cups of coffee and his glove in one hand to awkwardly pat Kurt’s hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s going to be okay” he says, hopefully in a soothing manner. “I know that the classroom doesn’t have the Auditorium’s acoustics, but we’ll make it work, won’t we?” he adds, cocking his head to the side as he looks at Kurt.  
His friend lets go of his arm and he takes a hold of the two cups of coffee, and Blaine hastily takes off his second glove and his scarf. As they start walking in the halls toward what is now their classroom, Kurt lets out a sigh. “I suppose you’re right - if anyone can share a working space, it’s definitely us” he says melodramatically, “but I really wish we didn’t have to test our limits - can you picture it?” he asks suddenly as he huffs a laugh, “as if our goldfish-attention span students needed an extra distraction”.  
They both laugh at that, until it turns awkward when they realize that soon, they won’t have to imagine it: they will have to actually go through it and, as Blaine said, make it work.  
“At least it’s you I’m stuck with” Kurt says as he bumps his shoulder with Blaine’s, a soft smile on his lips.

As Kurt walks ahead of him, Blaine tries to calm the crazy beat of his heart.  
Logically, he knows that there is no explanation for the way his heart rushes in his chest like a hummingbird, like droplets of neon green on a background of fuchsia, but he also knows that it’s not the first time he’s had a peculiar reaction to Kurt’s touch, to Kurt’s laugh - to Kurt, altogether.  
Maybe, with all the time they spend together and all the things they shared, Blaine has developed something akin to attraction for his colleague, something that goes beyond the depth of their friendship.  
Maybe.  
However, no matter how attracted he might be to Kurt or how attuned his senses are to Kurt - it’s not what the other man needs from him at the moment.  
For now, Kurt needs Blaine first and foremost as a friend, a support, as someone to lean on during the upcoming storm.  
No pun intended.

\--

Luckily, on that first day of cohabitation, they don’t have any class at the same time. Even better, they manage to have a couple of simultaneous breaks, which allow them to go over their lesson plans to try and make the shared classes a little bit more productive.  
“I was just about to start going over more Contemporary movements - like Pop Art and Street Art. Do you think you would be able to make it work?” Blaine explains to Kurt, his notebooks opened between them on the table in the teachers’ lounge.  
Kurt ruffles the typed sheets he obviously prepared early in the morning and twists his mouth. “I might - for Pop art, I could go through the Velvet Underground, we would just have to really explain the Factory and how it worked you know” he replies, his eyes darting from Blaine to different words on the pages, his right hand fingers twirling a pen between them before he stops spinning the wooden stick to scratch something on the sheet.  
Blaine nods. “Definitely. Warhol’s whole sphere of influence is a goldmine for both of us”.  
Kurt scans his plan as he nods over Blaine’s words. “I could then introduce alternative music and the underground scene, which could be a good lead for Hip-Hop music, which is linked to Street art, isn’t it?” he muses out loud, returning his gaze on Blaine.

As he’s right in the middle of a pretty large bite of his sandwich, Blaine opens wide eyes and waves his hand to let Kurt understand that he won’t be long, and Kurt lets out a giggle.  
“Don’t choke on your sandwich, Blaine, I’ll go get another coffee” Kurt tells him, his voice still ringing with laughter.  
“ ‘e’af” Blaine mutters around his mouthful and Kurt lets out a boisterous laugh. “Pardon me?”  
Blaine hurries to swallow. “Decaf” he repeats, more audibly this time. Kurt shakes his head, a crooked smile on his lips and Blaine smiles at him.  
The teasing between them is natural, and as he looks over his notes, Blaine can feel like it’s really going to be all right.

Kurt really should take a decaffeinated drink though.

\--

Blaine claps his hands at the beginning of the lesson. “Now onto Street art, but still linked to Pop Art, let me introduce you to Keith Haring” he tells the assembled students - Kurt is sitting on the desk and both classes are actually sitting together.

After a troubled couple of weeks trying to find their marks, they realized that it was easier, at least for the rhetorical part of their lessons, to let the students sit together, particularly since it could lead to a joined project for the most receptive of the teenagers.  
Their first try was with the Black Mountain College: it looked like the easiest choice, since it featured both of their subjects (and some more) and it fit the bill chronologically.  
The work off Robert Motherwell and John Cage gave them the opportunity to explore more adventurous parts of American Art History, and the fact that they got to add dance in the mix didn’t hurt to get their students undivided attention.

Even though he thought that sharing the class with the man he’s starting to have less than pure feelings - and thoughts and dreams and, let’s use the proper term for it, fantasies - about, but it turns out that his focus on Blaine acts like an unsuspected source of energy.  
The fact that Kurt has a tendency to spend their after class coffee asking him complementary questions about the subject he has breached during the day while Kurt was busy with his class. Kurt’s curiosity about Art history and different techniques sends wave after wave of butterflies in Blaine’s chest, wave after wave of bright orange with different linings in Blaine’s mind and paintbrushes.

Now it’s time for something a little bit more -- delicate.  
Blaine knows that the subjects of Keith Haring and Street art in general are going to be at best complicated, at worse a source of problems with the parents and the board.  
That being said, Blaine is not going to step down on that matter: Street art is a gigantic part of contemporary culture and contemporary art, and it truly became part of the social fabric with Keith Haring and his Pop shops and different performances.

“Even if you don’t know anything about him, it’s most likely you know what Keith Haring’s style looks like” Blaine starts, pulling a mug from the desk’s drawer. A handful of students oh’ and ah’ as they indeed recognize the pattern and the style.  
“Haring learned how to draw from his father” Blaine continues, walking between the desks as he usually does, feeling Kurt’s eyes on his back. “Allen Haring was a cartoonist, and it probably influenced Keith’s later style. At the end of the seventies, Keith Haring really starts defining his iconic style, particularly his ‘Radiant baby’ which became his symbol, his signature” Blaine continues, passing copies of the famous drawing to the seated students.  
“His bold lines, vivid colors, and active figures carry strong messages: about society problems, about sexuality, about equality - yes, Keith Haring was definitely forward-thinking” he adds when he sees a couple of students raising their eyebrows. “But by 1982, Keith Haring had managed to bring together all the different actors of the Pop culture, working in the same social circle that Warhol’s protégé, Jean-Michel Basquiat and Madonna - Mr. Hummel?” he says, turning to the other teacher.

Kurt stands up from the desk and pulls his boom box from its spot besides the piece of furniture. “Thank you for the opening, Mr. Anderson. The eighties are definitely the launch of Madonna’s career as an entertainer, with her debut album being released in 1983, with hits even you youngsters probably know” he adds, earning a giggle from the class, “such as ‘Everybody’ and ‘Holiday’, which was just remade last summer” he lists, pushing the play button on the CD player.  
The sound of Madonna’s song fills the classroom, and Kurt’s students start clapping their hands in time with the beat. Soon enough, the classic eighties sound turns into something a little bit faster, a little bit more contemporary and Blaine can tell that it’s Madonna’s own remix, which definitely was a success in the charts a few months ago.

“From the very beginning of her career, Madonna paid attention to every little detail” Kurt continues, walking in front of the desk but never leaving that area. “Like her costumes, the homogeneity and the originality of her album, and the album cover - never underestimate the power of a good picture on the cover of your album” he says before turning to Blaine. “Better yet, if you plan on making a career in the entertainment industry, find yourself a good artist that will make your album pop in the stores, be it real or online” he adds and Blaine laughs.  
“The truth is, fellas, if you want to become a cover designer, you have to get what it means to bring music to life, to really understand what are all the meanings encapsulated in the different songs, so that you’ll make sure you’re not deviating from the singer’s visions.”

Blaine waits a moment, letting the students taking notes the time to catch up before getting to his next point.

“As I said, Keith Haring breached sensitive subjects with his work: his famous ‘Crack is Wack’ mural, created in 1986, has become a landmark on New York's FDR Drive and is still one strong message against drug use. His dedication to let worthwhile causes borrow his name lead him to make a mural for the Parisian Children Hospital, allowing the children to look at something colorful and fun from every room of the Hospital” Blaine explains, passing photographs of the different murals in the class. “And while we’re talking about Madonna, Keith Haring designed a jacket worn by the pink-wigged singer for a performance of her song ‘Like a Virgin’ for the TV dance program ‘Solid Gold’ in 1983”.  
Blaine takes a step back, leaving the floor for Kurt. It’s so flawless that it looks like they rehearsed it, when in reality, it’s simply the two of them understanding each other and feeling the other one’s energy.

As Kurt starts talking about the different things Madonna brought to the music industry, Blaine observes the class, but some part of his brain is already working on colors and images that would allow him to illustrate the success of this lesson.  
The smiles and raised hands show him that the students are not just interested - they feel involved in the lesson, and that evokes gold and silver twirls on a vieux rose background in his mind. The way both Kurt and himself worked hard on planning the lesson beforehand makes him want to use pieces of bright, shimmering ceramic stuck to the canvas, as they really tried to bring some relief to the lesson, bringing two separate universes together.

Kurt turns back to him, and a quick look to the clock on the wall tells him that they have about ten minutes before the bell rings.

Perfect.

“Now, I’m just going to take a couple of minutes to let you know that we found the perfect field trip for all of you” he announces, letting the teenagers show their enthusiasm before asking them to be quiet again. “Next month, right in Columbus, an exhibition is traveling from London and Amsterdam” Blaine starts, trying to build a suspense. “It will take us back in time a little, as far as Art history goes, but it will be worthwhile” he continues before pulling a rolled-up poster from his desk drawer.  
With a little help from Kurt they unroll it and the students clap and wolf-whistle as they see the title of the exhibition.  
Kurt and Blaine read it together. “Vermeer and Music: the Art of Love and Leisure” they proclaim, and Kurt takes the lead. “Now, in the exhibition there will be instruments and I want you guys to really look at them because we’re going to study the different family of instruments during the next trimester, and there will also be a video about what music meant in the 17th century, particularly in the Netherlands - you’ll see” he adds when some students look at Kurt with a confused look.

“As for us, since we already went through the Dutch painters” Blaine says, taking his turn, “I want you to focus on the way Vermeer plays a game with - well, with you, with all of us” he explains with a little chuckle. “But to make sure that we can go, please get your parents to sign this form” Blaine continues, placing a wad of papers on the first desk on the left, trusting the students to pass it along, “and if one or two of your parents could come with us to help us keep you in line, that would be swell” he adds just as the bell rings.  
To his surprise, the students don’t jump out of their seats, patiently waiting for them to give the sign that they can leave. Blaine smiles at the class, feeling pride invading all of his senses and waves at the door. “Go on, get out of here” he says, just as Kurt nods toward the door with a smile.

As the students fill out of the classroom, Blaine rolls the poster and Kurt gets the CD out of the boom box when he clears his throat to get Blaine’s attention. Blaine turns to look at him, making an inquisitive noise and Kurt nods toward the right side of the classroom.  
Edward O’Bane is standing next to his desk, his fingers wrapped around one shoulder strap of his backpack, his eyes locked on the wooden desk.  
“Edward?” Blaine asks, getting the teenager’s attention as Kurt takes his leave with a nod.

Ever since the -- incident between Blaine and Mr. Nesbit, George had left the school and Edward had slowly but surely got more and more quiet, as if his friend had always been the motor behind their actions.  
And yet, Blaine had paid attention to the lonely boy, seeing something of himself at the same age in him. During the classes when Blaine uses to let his students work on their project, he can see Edward working by himself, without ever communicating with his comrades but focused and careful.  
The project is quite interesting actually, it shows Edward’s artistic abilities in more than one field: he’s mixing photography and drawings, carefully, almost tenderly and Blaine wants nothing more than to help him.

“Did you have a question about your project or about the lesson?” Blaine asks him, leaning on his desk.  
Edward shakes his head but walks toward the door without a word.  
Blaine bites his lower lip but can’t help himself anymore. “Do you need help with something -- else?” he asks softly, burying his hands in his pockets.  
Hand on the doorknob, Edward stands silently before turning back to Blaine, a light blush on his cheeks. “I wanted - I wanted to … Dammit!” he mutters, and Blaine lets it slide for once, feeling like he’s domesticating a wild animal.   
“I wanted to apologize for what we did during your class - I’m really sorry we interrupted you and made fun of you” he finally says as quickly as he can and Blaine lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  
He smiles at his student, proud of him for being brave enough to admit his faults, and walks toward him. “I appreciate that, Edward” he says, putting one hand on the teenager’s shoulder. “Thank you for apologizing - now go, your parents will worry” he adds with a bigger smile.

The beaming smile the teenager gives him is just the cherry on the cake that this day has been and it inspires him swirls of Hermes red on the painting he had started to conceptualize earlier.


	5. Vanitas

Blaine sits in the bus they rented to get the two classes to Columbus, - the hour and a half that it takes to go from Athens is over before they even can start being bored, and the two parents who have agreed to supervise the trip with them are just as excited as the 8th graders - trying to hide how nervous and excited he is.  
They have managed to book tickets for the concert that actually accompanies the exhibition, which means that the students will get the full experience of the universe Kurt and him want them to discover.

As they exit the bus, Blaine gives to each student their ticket and gathers them in front of the stairs leading to the museum.  
“Alright!” he calls, getting everybody’s attention. “I want everybody to remember: you can talk among you, you are more than welcome to ask questions, but keep your voices down and don’t run in the halls. Don’t wander around and don’t leave without warning one of the four of us -” he lists, when Kurt puts a light hand on his forearm to calm him down.  
“But most importantly, guys” Kurt takes over, “have fun, enjoy this opportunity. Now, we’ll first go through the exhibition and you can all go as fast or as slowly as you wish. We will see each other at the meeting point inside to go get lunch before the concert, and then we can go back to the exhibition if you have any question for Mr. Anderson or myself” he announces, smiling as the kids start climbing the stairs.

“I’m sorry for butting in” Kurt says to Blaine as discreetly as he can as they follow the large group. “But you seemed a tad too stressed-out out there” he adds, keeping his fingers around Blaine’s wrist.  
Blaine lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been having nightmares about losing one of those rascals in - what?” he starts replying but he stops when Kurt lets out a short giggle and bites his lower lip.  
“Oh nothing” Kurt says, his voice shaking with laughter. “It’s just - you called them ‘rascals’, Blaine” he tries to explain, but another giggle cuts him.  
“It’s so - oh God - it’s so old fashioned and so perfectly you” Kurt starts explaining again once he’s calmer, his smile gentle and, does Blaine dare to use that word, fond as he looks over Blaine.  
Blaine puts his nose in the air. “Make fun of me all you want, at least none second graders has ever caught me using a curse word in front of them” he says haughtily before dropping the act.  
Kurt smirks at him as they reach the museum’s entrance. “Oh really? and what do you say when, oh, one of them knocks the paint over the table and - or the floor?” he asks jokingly.  
Blaine can feel a blush on his neck and his cheekbones. “Fudgy skit” he mumbles, and as Kurt lets out another laugh, he smacks his friend’s shoulder. “Oh shut up” he says with a smile of his own.

\--

Blaine quickly loses himself in the paintings presented in the exhibition.  
Before reaching the actual Vermeer paintings, other paintings by Dutch painters are presented, giving the visitors an understanding of the universe Vermeer worked in.  
The little Vanitas paintings mesmerize him: granted, he wouldn’t buy one even if he had the means for it, and it’s definitely not his own style of painting, but the amount of details in the canvases is just really, really interesting.

From across the room, Kurt is observing the Spanish guitar exhibited in a glass case - the pattern of ivory and marble is so delicate that it looks like it has always been in the wood, and the guts material of the cords -- Kurt is certain that the sound it would produce would be deeper and more emotional than the synthetic ones he has on his own instrument at home.  
Looking up, he can see some of Blaine’s students gathered around a painting, some making sketches and some pointing at different elements of the artwork.  
Three people are playing in a marbled courtyard, the whole scene covered in shadows, while a fourth person is standing in an opening, looking at a sunlit “urban” landscape, his back to the trio.  
This gives Kurt an impression of intimacy, of a couple's intimacy to be more specific, even though the couple in the shadows is not left alone and he looks up, searching for his colleague and best friend.  
Blaine is standing in a corner, leaning toward an even smaller painting, one that Kurt can only define as creepy. A skull is in the middle of the canvas, sitting on a book with a violin next to it.  
“Blaine?” he ask-whispers as he reaches Blaine, putting his hand on Blaine’s shoulder to warn his friend that he’s here.  
That doesn’t stop Blaine from slightly jumping at the unexpected contact, but the startled look on his face quickly morphs into his usual soft smile that Kurt is so fond of. “Kurt, hey” he whispers and Kurt stands next to him, his thoughts drifting on their relationship.

Kurt isn’t used to being so tactile with the people around him, and he never expected to grow so attached to the other man either, especially as quickly as he did in the past months.  
Sure, when they met, Kurt felt an immediate attraction to the Art teacher, but there was something more about Blaine that drew him in.  
Kurt can’t shake the idea that being around Blaine, even if it never passes the friendship stage, is a motivation to be a better man and a better teacher.  
That’s why he has been willing to let go of his walls, so carefully built over the years; that’s why he has given himself permission to trust Blaine with everything he has, restraints and self-preservation be damned.  
They’re one semester into their friendship and Kurt doesn’t regret his decision one single bit.  
That is, if you can exclude the parts of him - the ones getting louder and louder - that want to take Blaine in his arms, in his embrace, in his bed and never let him go.  
The thing is, Kurt thought that by becoming Blaine’s friend, by getting closer to him, the initial physical attraction would fade away.  
He couldn’t have been more wrong.  
The more he knows Blaine, about his struggles and his little dorky quirks, the more he witnesses how brilliant an educator and how passionate he is about his job Blaine is, and the deeper Kurt falls for him.  
Shaking his head like a wet dog, Kurt focuses on the present: he knows that he can keep his feelings from ruining everything between them.  
If there is one thing one should never forget about Kurt Hummel, it’s that he has the best poker face.

\--

Blaine was so deeply immersed in the little, dark Vanitas that he didn’t hear Kurt coming closer.  
He has grown familiar of the taller man’s touch, particularly on his shoulder - the grip of Kurt’s long fingers on his arm has become a welcomed reminder of the bond between them, the bond that has grown since the beginning of the school year.  
(Sometimes Blaine has to remind himself off the fact that Kurt has not always been in his life, no matter how much it feels like he has)  
Still, he was pretty surprised when Kurt discreetly called for him, and he is proud of himself for avoiding a humiliating reaction like letting out a shriek - now that would have been embarrassing.

“Kurt, hey” he says softly as Kurt comes to stand next to him, his Agate eyes traveling through the little canvas.  
“It’s a Pieter Claesz” Blaine feels like he needs to tell Kurt, as if that would help him understanding the painting. “Do you care for a couple of clues?” he asks gently, his smile turning just this side of teasing.  
“Enlighten me, maestro” Kurt replies in the same fashion.

“Okay” Blaine takes a deep breath - the last thing he wants is to bore his friend to death. “This is a Vanitas painting, or a still-life that contains a lot of symbolism” he starts explaining, blushing when Kurt focuses his eyes on him. “It’s usually associated with Dutch, 17th century paintings. Vanitas are meant to remind viewers and therefore, the painting commissioner, of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death -”

“Fun” Kurt comments with a light snort that Blaine finds absolutely endearing - it sounds like a brown ink stain on a yellow watercolored background.  
“You have no idea” Blaine agrees, before resuming his explanation. “Now, the skull is usually the big star of a Vanitas - when the painter really wants to insist on the inevitable death of everything, they can add rotten fruits or lemon peels; you can also find bubbles, candles, hm, watches and, that should please you, music instrument” Blaine lists, counting the different elements on his fingers.  
When he taps his lips with his index to remind himself of the watch and clock element, he misses Kurt’s eyes darkening as they stick to his mouth, before Kurt blinks and frowns.  
“Why are music instruments so symbolic of the ephemerality of life?” he asks, confusion etched all over his face.  
Blaine finds it adorable, and he almost takes a step back - since when does he associate his friend and the idea of cuteness?  
“Simple” he answers, “since concerts could not be recorded, music was viewed as something intrinsically ephemeral - what?” he asks when Kurt looks at him with a fond, if slightly amused smile.  
“You and your big, fancy words” Kurt says, shaking his head. “Go ahead, Thesaurus, I’m sure you’re not done” he adds, waving at the canvas.  
Blaine’s eyes sparkle. “Indeed I’m not” he answers with a would-be posh accent. “Now, see, including Vanitas elements usually allowed the artist to, simply put, paint esthetically pleasing compositions, since it gave an aura of seriousness …”

\--

The concert is a pure delight, for everyone present.  
Blaine looks over his students, and he’s impressed to see more than a handful of them doodling on their sketchbooks or taking pictures - thank God he had thought to ask permission in advance on their behalf -, some simply taking notes with many arrows and circled elements.

As for Kurt’s students, Blaine can tell that they are hypnotized by the musicians’ dexterity with the 17th century instruments - particularly the Spanish guitar and the virginal.

 

As for him -- Blaine is almost ashamed for not paying as much attention to the musicians on stage as he probably should.  
No, for a good portion of the concert, Blaine keeps his eyes on Kurt.  
On his hands, to be precise.  
As the woman holding a replica of the guitar in the exhibition starts playing, Blaine can see Kurt’s fingers flexing and moving - it’s utterly hypnotizing.  
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Kurt is mimicking the notes being played - a classical version of air guitar, Blaine supposes.  
Kurt’s fingers in motion really are a sight to behold: they’re long and elegant without being feminine or fragile looking - if anything, Blaine feels like Kurt’s fingers are the synthesis of his masculinity.

As they move in time with the music, Blaine finds himself captive of their motion: it’s almost like he can literally see the air currents bending to Kurt's will, like the notes are strings that Kurt controls.  
Oh, he really wishes he could make a sketch of the image in his mind right this moment, but for now, the white page in his mind will have to do.  
He’s picturing Kurt’s hands being the key element of his drawings, with strings of blue, red, and yellow twisting around them, playing with the fingers just as much as they’re being played.

A sweet sort of control, that’s the way Blaine sees Kurt’s way of playing - if his current movements are accurate of his way of using an actual instrument - now that would be something to witness - and it only makes him dearer to his heart.

Blaine has given up on wondering why he feels so close to Kurt, why he feels so much for Kurt.  
It still takes him by surprise when Kurt does something that brings all those feelings back to the forefront of his mind, sure, but he doesn’t dwell on it.  
The depth of his feelings is “just” an element of their friendship, and it’s all for the best.

\--

Once the concert is over, they all have a short reprieve before they need to go back to the exhibition, and they all find a place to settle down outside and get some lunch.

Blaine looks mildly amused as Kurt’s students surround him like a litter of puppies, all speaking at the same time and asking questions louder and louder; he is too far to hear what is being said, but from the look on Kurt’s face, his colleague seems to be torn between annoyance and amusement.

When Kurt manages to extricate himself from the group, Blaine waves enthusiastically at him to make himself seen, a sandwich in his hand.  
Kurt plops himself next to him with a relieved sigh before tearing open the plastic wrapped around said sandwich. “You’re a godsend” he moans, his mouth full with the large bite he just took, “I was starving, but I couldn’t possibly tell them to-to-” Kurt seems to hesitate on the most adequate word to use, and Blaine laughs in his bag of chips.  
“What, to just leave you alone?”  
“I was leaning toward ‘how to tell them to fuck off’, but that would work too” Kurt deadpans, and Blaine has to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly - a snort escapes him nonetheless.  
Kurt smiles smugly around his mouthful - the resemblance with an eating squirrel is uncanny in this moment; Blaine wishes he had his camera - as Blaine tries to catch his breath.  
“Something wrong, Mister Fudgy Skit?” Kurt adds, playing every bit the concerned, friendly colleague and Blaine scoffs at him.  
“Such language” he finally manages to say after a gulp of water from his bottle, “Really Mister Hummel, I am truly shocked”.

Kurt lets out a small snort of his own as he takes the bottle from Blaine’s hand to take a mouthful of the drink himself, and they both giggle like they’re some of their students while they finish their meal.

\--

“Guys - Guys!” Blaine calls for the group’s attention once all the garbage is put in the trashcans. “We don’t have much time before the bus is going to pick us up and take us back home, so I’m afraid we have to chose two paintings that we will study in details together. Now,” he tells them as he pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket “I have here a list of the paintings presented in the exhibition. By show of hands, let me know when I call the name of a painting you’re interested in, and Mr. Hummel will count you. First, ‘A musical party in a courtyard’ - one, two, three” Blaine counts the hands raised, smiling in petto when one mother raises her hand, “Kurt, that’s three for our numero uno. Second, ‘The concert with the viola di gamba’ …”


	6. The Guitar Player / The Plan

After a while - but not as long as Blaine anticipated - they manage to pick two paintings: the little Vanitas that Blaine was observing earlier, and “The guitar player” by Vermeer.  
As they all get ready to get back inside, Kurt leans in Blaine’s space. “Can you wait for me before starting the explanation for the Guitar player?” he asks softly and Blaine nods as he puts his bag back on his shoulder.  
“Of course” he replies with a demure smile. “Enjoying your immersion in the Fine arts world, eh fiddler?” he adds with a teasing tone and a hip bump.  
“More than you can imagine, museum bookworm” Kurt shots softly back, leaving Blaine with a clap to the back, his students following his long strides back inside like ducklings.

\--

When he passes the different rooms making the exhibition, Blaine finds Kurt with his group and one of the parents, carefully showing to the kids the different components of a true 17th century virginal.  
He goes over the Vanitas painting easily: in some ways, his time with Kurt feels like a dressed rehearsal, a preparation for the performance he’s giving.  
Once he’s done, the kids have only a couple of questions for him: some ask the meaning of the book in the foreground - “a symbol of human knowledge, fellas, the only way for the short-lived being that we are to rise above that pitiful condition” - while others wonder why the whole composition is so messy - fine, the words actually being used are “why is it such a clusterf- oh sorry Mr. A”, but Blaine, while he appreciates the self-censoring of their curse words, doesn’t really have an answer to that.  
“I don’t know guys, I suppose it was Claes’ way of giving some energy to his painting, some feeling of movement” he replies with a shrug, “now just wait for me here and we’ll proceed to the next room” he adds, walking away from the group to get Kurt and his students - the 'Guitar player' is waiting for them.

As he passes the threshold for the other room, he spots Edward pulling his notebook and a pencil to quickly sketch composition and strength lines, while Fedra is looking over his arm and pointing at different elements, the two teenagers sharing looks and discussing and smiling all the while. Blaine leaves with a smile at the scene - and at the unlikely couple forming in front of his eyes.

\--

Once everybody is in the room, Blaine lets them a little moment to appreciate the painting before clearing his throat.

“Allow me to give you a short analysis of the painting” Blaine starts, coming to stand at the front of the group. “I’m going to do one element after the other: first the painting within the painting, or ‘mise en abyme’ if you feel like being fancy” Blaine starts, sharing an amused look with Kurt. “Vermeer often used paintings he owned, particularly landscapes, as the décor for his own paintings. The landscape is pretty simple itself, but it shows a certain taste, which could help the viewer understand the social status of the lady” Blaine explains, before pointing at the girl herself. His smile turns gentler and he gives a short, almost unnoticeable nod to the painting.

This painting is by far his favorite painting by the Dutch artist, far, far beyond the Girl with the pearl earring. He’s always had a certain affection for the musician in the painting - maybe even more so now that he’s let music back in his life.  
But he’s digressing, even if it’s only in his mind.

“The landscape on the wall and the three books which lie on the table lend an air of sophistication to the picture even though it is impossible to know their subject or title. Now, some experts have assumed that the thickness of one of the book could indicate that it is a Bible, which would indicate that Vermeer is -- injecting, if you may, elements of Vanitas style works” Blaine explains, waiting for the penny to drop, and here it is, the widening of some pair of eyes and the mouths opening in recognition.

“Now, the girl herself: she’s dressed in an elegant fur-trimmed yellow morning jacket, one that Vermeer used in five different paintings, that lazy bum” Blaine says, letting the kids laugh at his joke.  
His smile widens when he sees Kurt shaking his head and biting his lower lip in amusement.  
“The thing is, Vermeer is usually much more careful in the rendition of fabrics and textures. But in this case, the shimmering material of the jacket is broken down into a pattern which seem almost unrelated to the actual tuck and fold of the garment” Blaine keeps explaining, waving his fingers in front of the painting, following the folds and the shadows. “The fur trim too, that Vermeer mastered and usually rendered with the utmost delicately in previous works, is transformed into curious patches of thin gray paint. Now some scholars think that Vermeer didn’t apply his usual level of details in favor of this stylized treatment to keep the focus on the girl’s face and hands. Are you all still with me, or do you have questions for me?”  
All the students shake their head or nod, which lead to the same answer, and Blaine goes on.

“The young girl's open expression is quite unusual for Vermeer's sitters who usually convey their emotion in a veiled manner, even sometimes with their bodies instead of their faces. Perhaps her flirtatious expression suggests the presence of a male listener nearby - in any case, someone she likes well enough is distracting her from the painter she’s supposedly modeling for, but not from her playing. Look at the strings” Blaine says, his index following the path of the gut’s strings. “Some of them are blurred to suggest vibration in a quite unconventional manner - you can almost hear the chords being just plucked by her fingers, it’s really quite extraordinary, and quite unconventional for the 17th century” Blaine adds, taking a step back to focus on the assembly.

The kids are following the strings with their eyes, his and Kurt’s similarly fascinated when Kurt clears his throat and Blaine looks at him. Kurt mouths "do you mind?", pointing at the painting over the head of their students. Blaine makes an inviting motion with his hand and Kurt breaks the lines of students.  
"While we are on the subject of the guitar, try to compare the one Vermeer painted and the one presented in the glass case over there" Kurt says, pointing at the exhibited Spanish guitar on the other side of the room. "The lack of details that Mr. Anderson so brilliantly pointed out in the rendition of the fabrics didn't affect Vermeer's ability to depict the instrument. I know I don’t have your Fine arts teacher’s knowledge, but I can tell that maximum attention has been paid to the decorative black and white pattern of its border - it’s so striking on the actual instrument, and it’s just as impressive on canvas” Kurt points out and Blaine feels like taking over.   
“Indeed it is - it’s a technical tour de force” - from the corner of his eyes, Blaine can see Kurt physically fighting the urge to roll his eyes at him - “and the visual "staccato" effect on the checkered inlay intensifies the painting's crisp, sparkling atmosphere and lends a rhythmic note consonant to the musical theme. The ornate hand-carved sound hole itself is a little pictorial wonder, rendered with small, thick blobs of impasto paint which describes the way light rakes across its shiny, uneven surface” Blaine describes, his eyes drawn to the pattern at the middle of the guitar.

Kurt leans forward to look at it in detail and in this moment, their faces are so close than Blaine can feel Kurt’s breath coming out and caressing his skin.  
A blush creeps up Blaine’s neck and face but he doesn’t feel that embarrassed when he sees the same fate affecting Kurt’s marble-carved face. They exchange a shy smile before taking a step back and Blaine turns to the students once more.

“Final word about Vermeer’s technique: look at the hand holding the neck” Blaine points once more at the part he’s referring to - God Cooper would be proud - and he huffs a laugh when he sees Kurt mimicking the posture next to him. “It is quite representative of Vermeer’s late works: instead of actually painting the details of the nails and the skin, he chose to use a series of flat patches of differently toned paint, which, nonetheless, magically convey the play of lights” he explains, once again mesmerized by the amount of details in the painting.

One of the mothers starts lightly clapping and Blaine’s blush is back at full force, especially when the whole group follows her lead, keeping the volume of it low enough not to be a disturbance for the other visitors.  
“Thank you, thank you” he says, trying to play it nonchalant while he knows that he’s utterly failing at it - his blushing face is a dead give-away, he couldn’t play poker to save his life - “but we have to exit now if we want to go back to Athens” he adds, and even if some kids make sad noises, they all file out of the room more or less quietly.

As they walk out, they pass a small painting and Kurt stops in front of it. Blaine walks back to stand next to him. “Quite fascinating, isn’t it?” Blaine says and for a second, it feels like it’s just the two of them and the painting.  
“Do you know what it’s written on the virginal’s top?” Kurt asks just as softly. Blaine nods - he has been curious about the quote the first time he laid his eyes on the painting.  
“Musica letitiae comes, medicina dolorum - Music is the companion of joy, the medicine of sorrow” he enunciates, smiling at Kurt. “I would bet quite a few morning coffees that you agree with that, don’t you?” he adds, bumping Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt nods enthusiastically, at loss for words from the looks of it.  
“Now come on, we have to go” he says after a short while and Kurt lets out a disappointed sigh before leaning toward Blaine. “Okay, you know what Anderson? Open up your bag, we’re taking this one with us” he whispers conspiratorially and Blaine bites his lower lip to keep from making too much noise with his laugh. “I’m afraid this might be a little too obvious to security, but I promise, Kurt,” he adds, patting Kurt on the shoulder when the other man starts pouting, “I’ll make you a copy that will look authentic enough”.  
Kurt seems invigorated by that thought and he follows Blaine outside, giving one parting look to the painting.

\--

A couple of weeks later

Blaine is peacefully eating his dinner while browsing a dog shelter’s website when his cellphone rings.  
“Hey Kurt” he answers, keeping his eyes on the screen.  
“Did she call you?” Kurt says without preamble and Blaine stands up to pace - it always helps when he needs to focus on the discussion at hand. “Did who call me about what?” he asks his friend, and he can tell that Kurt is in a stressed-out state of mind.  
“Augustin - she just called me, she-she didn’t try to call you?” Kurt asks again, and from his tone, Blaine can almost picture him dragging his hand in his hair.  
Blaine shakes his head. “No, not at all - Kurt, what is going on?” he asks again, just when his home-line starts ringing. He stops pacing and frowns. “Kurt you can hear that, it must be her--” he trails off and Kurt sighs.  
“Okay, give me your address, I’m coming over while you speak with her - we need to talk” Kurt finally says and Blaine gives him the directions to his place before hanging up.  
God he hopes that there is no complication with the Gershwin’s reparations.

\--

“I can’t believe it” Blaine says as he opens the door to let Kurt in.  
A fuming, pissed beyond comprehension Kurt.  
Blaine, for his part, has spent the last twenty minutes in a state of stunned confusion.  
“Oh, you better believe it, Blaine” Kurt replies as he takes off his coat and flings it over one of the stools near the bar - slash - kitchen area.

“They really think that the restoration of the auditorium is not a financial priority?” Blaine says, his confusion obvious in his voice. Kurt nods, his lips so tightened that they form a severe line on his face.  
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Blaine exclaims and Kurt nods vigorously before letting himself drop in the couch.  
Blaine takes two bottles of beer from the fridge and sits next to him.  
“Hey” he says softly, pushing the bottle in Kurt’s hand, “we’ll find a solution, I’m sure there is something we can do that will convince the school’s board that the Arts are still as important as it always has been” Blaine tries to appease his friend but Kurt shakes his head as he swallows the swig of beer he just took.  
“I really don’t see what we can do, Blaine” Kurt says, his voice small and defeated. “I mean, I don’t mind sharing the classroom with you, it’s even a lot of more fun that I expected” he adds before sighing, “but if we don’t get an auditorium before the end of the year, my students won’t be able to perform in front of the school, the ones who are counting on a scholarship won’t have a proper space to prepare for their auditions --” Kurt trails off and puts the bottle on the coffee table before putting his head in his hands.

Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s bent back and rubs circles to comfort him. When Kurt takes a deep breath, Blaine can feel it under his fingertips - he can feel the way Kurt’s lungs expand and release the air, it feels royal blue and purple mingling - and he bends his head down to look at his friend.  
“Look Kurt” he finally says when Kurt remains prostrated, “you can either let them abandon the Gershwin and you and your students in the process or you can try to get creative to make them change their minds” he says softly, and Kurt looks away with a dejected puff of air.

When his breath catches in his throat and Blaine follows his line of sight.

Oh shit.

“D-flat” is leaning against the wall, face up - facing them as it is.  
Now, Blaine doesn’t mind showing his art to his friends - most of the time - but for some reasons, it just hits him that he never told Blaine that he painted outside of the classroom.

“Wow” Kurt lets out, standing up - Blaine has to rush to take his hand off Kurt’s back before it reaches the taller man’s butt - and walking toward the painting.  
“It’s beautiful Blaine where did you find - oh my” Kurt starts asking before cutting himself short - Blaine can only assume that he just saw the signature hidden in the corner of the canvas.  
Kurt turns to him with the widest eyes Blaine has ever seen in his face. “You painted this ” he asks this with something in his voice Blaine can’t actually pinpoint - is it -- is it awe?  
Blaine crosses his arms on his chest and simply nods, focusing on the grain of wood of his floor.

It is a very interesting pattern after all.

“It’s wonderful” Kurt whispers, kneeling to get closer to the painting, his fingers hovering over the swirls and shapes.  
Blaine stays up, torn between feeling proud and needing to escape.  
When he remains silent, Kurt looks up at him. “I’m serious Blaine” he says, “this is truly a wonderful work, it’s so expressive, it feels - it feels really organic actually. You know what it reminds me off?” he asks Blaine suddenly and Blaine lets out a chuckle.  
“I know we know each other pretty well, Kurt, but I don’t read your mind yet” he says with his crooked - special Kurt - smile.  
Kurt doesn’t seem to catch the humor and answers his own question. “It reminds me of a Tchaikovsky’s sonata” he says and Blaine feels like his heart is going for an escape.

Could it be?  
Could Kurt and him actually be that much on the same wavelength?  
It seems uncanny that out of the blue, without any hint, Kurt would find the reference Blaine used in his own creative process and yet, here they are.

“Do you have a title for it?” Kurt asks, moving to see the differences the lighting and shadowing bring to the painting.  
“I do, actually” Blaine says as he rubs his neck. “It’s - it’s ‘D-flat’, at least for now” he adds, “no title is usually definite with my work --”  
“There are more?” Kurt exclaims, before reaching for Blaine. “Please let me see them, I need to focus on something beautiful and extraordinary for a - did you say ‘D-flat’?” he asks, frowning suddenly. “May I ask for more information about that?” he adds, his fingers wrapped around Blaine’s wrists.  
Blaine blushes at the contact - will he ever get over Kurt’s touch? Somehow he doubts it - and searches for the right words. “It’s just - I was inspired by Tchaikovsky's first Concerto when I painted it, and since the main theme of it is in D-flat, I don’t know - it made sense, at least for me” he adds, more than a little bit embarrassed, as he always gets when he talks about his work.

Ask Blaine to talk about pretty much about any artist, and he can talk for hours, even in front of a large audience; but ask him about his paintings or his drawings, and it feels like his tongue has decided to merge with his palate.

Kurt’s eyes have taken a manic glint and Blaine frowns. “What did I say now? Isn’t that correct? I’m pretty sure it is, but-” he starts rambling but Kurt shushes him silent.  
“No no, you’re actually right but - does this mean that you often paint under the influence of music?” Kurt asks, tapping his chin.  
Blaine shrugs, walking back to the table to grab their drinks again. “I guess so - I can be inspired by a lot of things, but music has always been a big part of my life --” he trails off, taking a mouthful in the hope that Kurt will launch on something else but Kurt doesn’t say anything, obviously waiting for him to continue.

“I never told you that I wanted to be a performer when I was younger, did I?” he says, his eyes on Kurt. His friend shakes his head, his mouth slightly opened. “No, I suppose I didn’t” Blaine whispers, mostly to himself, before sitting down, joined by Kurt on the floor.  
“Well, I did, for a while - I was so sure that I had what it took to be the next Fred Astaire and bring a revolution to the stage” he starts his story, one so very few people know, but he feels like he’s doing the right thing. “I enrolled in a Dramatic arts college - picture ‘Fame’ but with more focus on actually singing and dancing at the same time - and that’s when I realized that this wasn’t the world for me” Blaine explains and Kurt nods with a slight frown.

“Mostly, it’s the over competitive side of this universe that doesn’t sit right with me” Blaine concludes, not wishing to bring back the memories of the friendships and relationships destroyed because of someone else’s need to be better and cast before him.  
Kurt smiles at him. “Yeah, I can’t really see you walking over everybody that would stand in your way” he comments before turning his attention back to the painting.

They stay silent for a moment, and Blaine starts twirling his bottle between his hands when Kurt clears his throat and Blaine replies with a humming sound.  
“I just had a possibly terrible idea” Kurt says, leaning his head against his bent knee.  
When he doesn’t elaborate, Blaine stands up and offers his hand to Kurt. “Let’s talk about it around a cheesecake” he offers, smiling in a silent invitation.  
“How could I say no to that?” Kurt asks rhetorically - by now, Blaine knows that the way to Kurt’s mind is an offer of cheesy, sweet delicacies. “And you just happen to have a cheesecake lying around in the fridge?” he adds with a twist of his mouth.  
Blaine lets out a chuckle as he opens the fridge and Kurt settles in one of the kitchen’s chairs. “No, of course not - my brother went to Eli’s this morning and he dropped what was left of his colossal order so to avoid temptation - ah, his words, not mine” he adds hurriedly when Kurt looks at him like he just grew another head.  
“Crazy must run in the family” Kurt comments with a smile, his hands pressed together when Blaine pulls the cake out, “Eli’s cheesecakes are nothing but a godsend, trying to avoid eating them should be punishable by - well, not death but something extremely painful” he adds, making a grabbing gesture at the plate offered by his host.  
Blaine laughs loudly at that - Kurt’s love for cheesecake is really as strong as the one in the most celebrated love stories - and sits in front of Kurt. “Trust me, gaining weight would definitely be punishment enough for Cooper - he’s still in the acting industry” he adds as an explanation and Kurt nods, his mouth full with the creamy and crunchy cake.

After a couple of minutes that feel like hours, Blaine lets his fork clangs in his plate.  
“Are you going to tell me about this possibly terrible idea that came to you while you were looking at a painting I made or not?” he says, crossing his arms on the table and looking at Kurt expectantly.  
His friend has his mouthful and looks every inch of the deer caught in the car’s headlights as he swallows and pushes the plate away.

“From what I understand,” Kurt starts, keeping his hands linked in front of him - even if Blaine can him tapping his index finger on the table - and his eyes on Blaine “you paint and sometimes, you let music and - or sound inspire you colors and shapes and the general composition of a painting, correct?”  
“Correct” Blaine says, keeping his voice calm until he understands where Kurt is going with this.  
“How long does it take you to complete a painting?” Kurt asks and Blaine has to take the time to ponder that point.  
“I don’t really know, it depends on the level of complexity of the -- the vision I have in my head thanks to the music I guess” he finally says, a little embarrassed to admitting something so personal.  
Kurt nods, his eyes darting from side to side, in a manner that Blaine has come to associate with his friend in the middle of a tough thinking process.  
“Do you think you would be able to, say, complete a smallish painting in ten minutes?” Kurt asks, and once again, Blaine needs the time to ponder the implications of what Kurt is saying.  
He thinks he’s starting to see what plan is forming in Kurt’s mind, and he has to admit that his friend was right: if Blaine is not mistaken, this is insane and it has the potential for being either fantastic or terrible.  
“I think I could, given the proper surroundings - what are you suggesting, Mr. Hummel?” he says, resting his head on his hands and leaning forward.  
Kurt, in response, leans backward in his seat. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I think we should propose a dual performance to our students and to the board, to show them what the Arts really mean to this school, what it can do” he announces, his voice slightly shaking.

Blaine is suddenly hit with the memory of a performance that took place in the seventies, involving a French painter and a musician, and he stands up quickly to grab his laptop.  
“Blaine?” Kurt asks, concern laced in his voice as he starts standing up himself.  
Blaine comes back with his computer and sits next to Kurt this time, looking for a link to the video on Youtube. “I just remembered something I studied when I turned to Art history” he explains to Kurt, his eyes on the screen to find the proper video and lets an exclamation when he spots the one he was looking for.  
Kurt looks at the screen and frowns. “Vangelis? He’s the one who won the Oscar for the score of ‘Chariots of Fire’, right? The Blade Runner score too?”  
Blaine nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! He and George Mathieu made this performance in 1971” he explains, pointing at the painter working on the large canvas.  
“What about the girl?” Kurt asks, pointing at the dancer in the blue dress. Blaine twists his mouth. “I think it was supposed to be a three-way performance - oh shush you” he adds when Kurt starts snickering, “but look, after a minute, she just stands on the side, because it’s obvious that a connection has been established between the two men”.  
Just as Blaine said, after a whole minute, the dancer stands on the side, letting the painter and the musician work in symbiosis, each action performed by one influencing the other - even if Kurt points out that the influence is primarily from the music to the canvas.

The video doesn’t last more than five minutes, and it’s obvious that they don’t get to see the whole performance but when the screen fades to black, they remain silent for a moment before looking at each other.  
Kurt puts one hand on Blaine’s wrist. “Do you think we have what it takes to do it ourselves?” he says softly, a little bit hesitant himself.  
Blaine covers Kurt’s hands with his own. “Do you? Because I have to admit, now that you have planted that idea in my head, I’m not sure I want to back out of it” he says gently.  
Kurt laughs softly. “I don’t know, but it feels like this is something we can do, that we have the capacities for as artists, as performers” he explains, his eyes sparkling in the soft light coming from the overhead kitchen lamp. “We definitely can do this, and it would leave an impact on the members of the board, that’s for sure -”  
“Whether the impact is a positive or a negative one is up to us” Blaine adds and Kurt nods, using his free hand to gather some crumbles from the plate.  
“We would have to work seriously” Kurt says, lost in his thoughts.  
“To plan ahead, maybe to rehearse a little” Blaine shots back, picturing it in his mind.  
“Make sure that we understand each other -”  
“- and that we agree on the process and the organization -”  
“- to at least keep in line what we can” Kurt concludes and Blaine raises his hand for a high-five.

Blaine stands up, rubbing his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts; now that they have the idea, they really need to conceptualize it to make a proposition that will have the ability to seduce the board, to at least get them to agree to let them do it.  
“We have some work to do” he says, looking at Kurt and feeling like a line is forming between them.

\--

After many days and many evenings spent together, heads bent over sheets of paper, some screams and a lot of cheesecakes, they think they have the perfect outline of what they want to propose to the board.  
The following morning, they both go to the principal’s office to explain their project, and they leave her with the outlined project in a file to present it to the board committee.

They both spend the two days that follow in a state of stress that everyone around them can feel - their students keep quiet, their colleagues stay away from them and as last resort, Sam offers his best friend a cuddle session that Blaine can’t refuse.  
That’s how Mercedes finds them the second evening, the two friends huddled together on the couch of the couple’s apartment, like two puppies, like a ying and yang pile and she pets their heads.  
“Feeling better, Blainey?” she asks as she walks away to put her shoes in the bedroom.  
Blaine lets out a whine and digs his head deeper in Sam’s chest, while Sam tightens his hold around Blaine’s frame.  
“Why are you and Kurt so stressed out anyway?” Mercedes continues once she’s back in the room, plopping herself on the arm of the couch. From the corner of his eye on Sam’s chest, Blaine can see Sam leaning his head toward her to claim a kiss that she gives to him with a soft smile.  
So soft, in fact, that it tugs at his heartstrings.  
Sam and Mercedes’ relationship is one that Blaine longs for: two friends that have become lovers without forgetting that they started as friends.

But it’s not the subject at the moment and Blaine pushes himself from Sam’s comforting embrace to sit up straighter.

“You know about the problems we have regarding the restoration of the auditorium’s roof, right?” he asks Mercedes and she nods with a frown - none of the faculty members had been pleased by the board’s decision.

“Well, Kurt and I -” Blaine blushes at their names being associated this way, it almost sounds like he’s with Kurt as more than colleagues and friends “we have come up with a plan to convince the committee members that the Arts are what makes McConica so special on an educative level” Blaine explains - he doesn’t really want to give too much details until they get the board’s agreement to go through, that’s what he’s waiting for and getting his stomach in knots over after all.  
“Don’t get too stressed out, honey” Mercedes answers, cupping his cheek. “I’m sure the two of you managed to come up with something extraordinary, and in the meantime, I’m going to feed you some of my secret weapon” she adds with a wink and Blaine looks up with a beaming smile.  
“Tater tots?” he says, his hands clasped together on his chest. “You would share your precious tater tots with me?” he adds, standing to get closer to his friend.  
Mercedes rolls her eyes and lightly smack his shoulder. “Make fun of me and you won’t get any, silly boy” she reprimands him and Blaine puts his arms around her to pull her in a hug.  
“Not making fun, ‘Cedes, thank you so much” he says in her ear and he can feel her face heating up as he kisses her cheek.  
“Stop fooling around with my fiancée, Anderson” Sam calls from the living room and Mercedes lets out a raucous laugh.  
“I don’t think I have the right body parts, honey” she calls back before untangling herself from Blaine’s embrace.  
“Now shoo, go back to your favorite pillow” she says with the appropriate hand motion toward the other room, “I need to focus to make the better tater tots to ever tot”.  
Blaine laughs, thankful for his friends and their unwavering support, before launching himself at Sam on the couch to resume his position on his chest.  
\--  
Later that evening, as Blaine is finally relaxed and laughing at the pitiful attempts made by Sam to get them to guess what he’s trying to draw on the board, his cellphone rings with a text message.  
Sam and Mercedes fall silent and look at him expectantly as Blaine looks at his phone, not daring to open it and read the message.  
“Operation Swiping them of their conceited feet is a go”


	7. Synesthesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that, funnily enough, I wrote at the beginning, the idea that started this whole fic

 

 

The time has come for Blaine and Kurt to finally do it.

After weeks of working together on the best way to arrange the setting, after nights upon nights of talking about the performance they’re preparing, about the risks they’re taking, the time has finally come.

They have come to an agreement: their respective students should be at the front row of the performance, sitting Indian style in a semi-circle and taking notes on their creative process; the two of them should just do what they have to do without any explanation - explanations will come later, in a more proper settings; parents and board members are more than welcome, since the performance they have in mind will show them how truly creative their Arts teachers really are.

They both paid a lot of attention to their outfits: Blaine picked his favorite dark jeans and polo for comfort, though he did add his favorite bow tie for a little touch of dapperness and class. 

As for Kurt - he takes Blaine's breath away : the crispiness of the white shirt looks fantastic against the darkness of the silky fabric making his waistcoast. The entire outfit seems to shade light on every asset of Kurt's physionomy : it shows off his broad, strong shoulders and arms - those rolled up sleeves do wonder - while enhancing the V shape of his torso, particuarly his slim waist. 

It’s fairly simple really, Blaine thinks as they get ready and enter the room where they have set everything up.

Kurt starts warming up and he focuses on his voice, on the subtle variations of it through the bars and keys - more importantly, Blaine lets the colors and the shapes it brings at the forefront of his mind come to life in his brain.

A picture starts to form and he lets himself smile - he can now pick up a brush and a first color.

The students are surprisingly quiet, as if they can sense that they’re witnessing something special, something that should not be disturbed by idle chatter.

As for the adults, Blaine tries to block them out of his mind: the parents, the board members, the teachers who have come as support and their friends who have been allowed for the afternoon - he can’t let it play with his head.

He needs to be one hundred percent focused on the canvas, on Kurt.

Kurt stops singing for a moment, but Blaine isn’t disturbed by the sudden silence since they discussed it beforehand: Kurt would pick a song that he feels is connected to Blaine’s first choice, and afterwards, his orchestration of it will change with Blaine’s composition and artistic decisions.

It’s a challenge, for both of them, since Blaine has no idea what song Kurt is going to choose and Kurt doesn’t know how Blaine is going to interpret his choice.

Maybe, in some ways, that’s the beauty of the whole thing.

Blaine can feel Kurt’s eyes following him as he starts painting a background of the color he has come to associate with the other teacher, the canvas slowly filling with soft, almost tender, hues of golden oranges - on this special occasion, Blaine has brought his copper pigments and mixed with the soft marigold he has picked, it allows him to obtain the shimmer he always picture when he tries to translate Kurt’s voice in a visual way.

The shimmer he has to come to associate with Kurt being passionate and using his talent.

The deep inhale from the other man is Blaine’s only sign that Kurt has picked a song and he tenses, the brushes firmly in his hand as he waits.

Kurt starts humming, though, as if the song has a musical introduction, and it sounds -- happy, bubbly, light, yet somehow nostalgic, like all the emotions Blaine has allowed himself to feel since the other man has entered his life.

It sounds magenta and lavender and Blaine takes them right out of the tube onto his brushes to unleash vivid strokes of each color, playing with the thickness of the layers with each passing of his brushes.

Then Kurt starts singing.

_Ooh I need your love babe_

_Guess you know it’s true_

Of course Blaine knows that song, he knows his classics and there is nothing more classic than a good old Beatles song, but there is something in Kurt’s interpretation that shakes him to the core: it’s slower than the original version - not exactly a ballad but closer to it than to the pop-rock of the Beatles - and Kurt doesn’t let his eyes wander off of Blaine, their eyes meeting when Blaine glances at him.

That song has always felt like it didn’t get the recognition it deserves, in Blaine’s humble opinion. Far from thinking it’s a mindless song about some crush, Blaine feels like it’s the moment a person realizes how much someone else really means to them.

This calls for Prussian blue, in quick, wave-like motions to frame the whole picture.

_Hope you need my love, babe_

_Just like I need you_

As he paints a pattern of gentle waves of the dark blue mixing with the drying spots of lavender and magenta, Blaine tries not to put too much weight on Kurt choosing this song.

Still.

The lyrics are anything but innocent - could it be? Could Kurt be feeling the same? Could his attraction to the other man be returned?

_Hold me_

_Love me_

_Hold me_

_Lo-ove me_

Kurt’s voice cracks a little on the last line, like he can’t contain so many emotions and Blaine turns to look at him for a second - he needs to watch him.

The other man’s blue eyes are still on him, but his smile has faded from his face, one hand pressed against his stomach and Blaine can see the fingers of Kurt’s other hand curling in a painful fist, like he’s getting overwhelmed.

He doesn’t sound like he’s singing anymore: he sounds like he’s pleading.

Like he’s pleading for Blaine, to listen to him, to listen to his own heart.

He sounds a little yellow, and Blaine picks the most liquid paint he has to throw droplets of canary yellow on the canvas. On some parts, the yellow mixes with the still fresh Prussian blue to create little rivulets of bright green that act as a bright contrast against the orange and the magenta.

The contrast is stunning and even though the colors should clash, it looks - balanced and joyful, it looks like Kurt, the Kurt Blaine has learned to know and to love.

_Ain’t got nothing but love, babe_

_Eight days a week_

Blaine has to take a second to control his breathing - it’s all over the canvas for him to see, and why didn’t he see it before?

It took Kurt actually singing to him to realize that he is not just attracted to the other man, or craving for his friendship.

He loves him.

Blaine loves Kurt.

Meanwhile, Kurt has switched keys, giving the song a more energetic feel, even though he hasn’t change the speed of it.

Moved by the emotions he’s feeling and by Kurt’s voice, Blaine grabs the box of red pigments and sprinkled some of it all over the canvas.

_Love you everyday, girl_

_Always on my mind_

When Blaine turns to look at Kurt, he blushes to see the other teacher winking at him.

And now he’s curious to know how exactly he features on Kurt’s mind.

He smiles back, a tentative smile stretching his lips - it’s so new and surprising for him that he’s getting dizzy - and returns his attention to the canvas.

Kurt’s teasing behavior calls for a circling pattern, to bring to life the idea that Blaine comes to realize that they’ve been circling each other in the time they spent together, both keeping silent about their feelings.

He needs to use a neutral color but in a three-dimensional way - it will fit in the whole composition without messing with the ensemble, and the raised material will give a new layer to the painting, a link between the viewer and the painting, an invitation to enter and read it on literally different plans.

_One thing I can say, girl_

_Love you all the time_

Blaine is focused on drawing perfect circles with the mother of pearl stained glass lead he uses as a pen, but his shoulders tense as Kurt’s voice goes back to the plaintive, almost pleading quality it had earlier. Blaine keeps on drawing circles, the lines they’re forming waving around the strokes of blue, the repetitive motion almost hypnotic.

Then again, Kurt’s complainant tone sounds like some healing chant, like an incantation that echoes in the shimmers of the pearly material.

And then Kurt does something Blaine didn’t expect, a zag just when Blaine was convinced that he was following Kurt’s zig: he changes the song.

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

The melodic lines are similar; the switch is effortless though the change seems to reflect the emotions Kurt is reading in the patterns and colors Blaine has painted.

The image created in Blaine’s mind with the new lyrics and Kurt’s voice is simple, so simple that it brings a giggle to his lips.

He has to face the second truth brought forward by the whole experience: Kurt has been the key to unlock Blaine from the chains he had set up upon himself.

Blaine picks up the black stained glass lead and starts drawing smaller circles, the pattern he wants to obtain clear in his mind.

_Black bird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

As he draws the shape of a bird flying out of a cage, Blaine feels his lips stretching in an hesitant smile. If anything, Kurt has shown him that by listening, he could find new ways to see at the world, at himself, at others.

In some ways, the art teacher has learned from the music teacher how to see.

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

Blaine feels like Kurt is singing about him, about the part of him that he has managed to keep hidden for so long.

In Kurt’s crystalline voice, Blaine finds purity and balance; his mind is clearer than it has been in the past few months - his epiphany about his true feelings for Kurt is surely responsible for this new state of mind.

In Kurt’s choice of lyrics, Blaine finds a fair description of himself, of his life, of his path.

_Blackbird fly,_

_Blackbird fly_

_Into the light of the dark black night_

Kurt’s voice sounds happier, and Blaine can feel him coming closer to him. He raises his right hand to stop Kurt’s progression toward him and Kurt actually stops walking, keeping a safe distance between them - the distance Blaine knows he’ll need to appreciate the whole picture.

Kurt goes back to the first song and Blaine takes a step back too - he ought to know that he has to get an objective eye on his work at some point, to make sure that his creation has not developed a mind of its own and that it’s still faithful to his goal.

The small circles he has used to draw his own Blackbird are still shining in the light of the room, and the bird looks like it’s about to fly off the canvas, out of the cage Blaine is shaping around its body with a lighter lead, and out of the painting itself, out of the room to discover a whole new world.

_Hold me_

_Love me_

_Hold me_

_Lo-ove me_

Blaine feels like he’s running a fever, drawing and painting in frenzied movements; he leaves the shape of the cage relatively simple, merely suggested so that the focus can stay on the bird.

Once he’s satisfied with the shapes of both figures, he closes his eyes to focus on Kurt’s voice.

It’s not longer plaintive, it’s full of energy, full of hope and this calls for Blaine’s personal favorite.

Uncapping the Chartreuse green bottle, Blaine presses the opening directly upon the canvas, creating lines around the bird’s opened wings.

To anybody else, it could look like air currents, supporting the bird’s flight. However, for Blaine, if he’s the bird, Kurt is the subtle wind holding him, supporting him to reach the heights he deserves to fly in.

_Ain’t got nothing but love, babe_

_Eight days a week_

_Eight days a wee-eek_

_Eight da-ays a week_

Blaine knows that they’re reaching the end of their performance and he pulls his “secret weapon” out of his bag.

All of his students make a low shuffling noise as they move closer, and for the first time since they began that -- experiment, Blaine remembers that they’re not alone in the room, that other people saw the interactions between them and more importantly, saw how they fed each other’s art.

The last box of pigments is his most precious possession: the pulverized gold, bought from a little Spanish artisan in a shopping spree over the Internet, is the ultimate layer Blaine is going to apply to the painting.

Once again, Kurt is walking closer but this time, Blaine doesn’t stop him: this is the big finale; he needs the closeness between them as Kurt repeats the chorus over and over.

Good - he needs the hypnotic trance it induces to finish properly the incredible painting.

Pulling his smallest brush from his belt, Blaine takes one microscopic pinch of gold after the other and draws a golden shadow under the bird’s belly. The pigment catches the lead used to draw the bird, and all of a sudden, the black looks glittery and luminous.

Taking a step back, Blaine can feel Kurt right behind him - he can almost feel the taller man’s body heat through their layers of clothes.

The jolt of physical need he gets propels him back toward the canvas as he applies a light layer of gold on the edge of each wing.

“Eight days a week” Kurt sings - more accurately, Blaine should say that Kurt is whispering in his ear, but he doesn’t have the time to dwell on it.

The whole room jumps to their feet, clapping and cheering them, students and adults equally enthusiastic.

They look at each other before turning to their audience to give them a little, almost comical bow.

In that look they silently say that they will have to talk about everything that happened and what it entails for them, for their relationship.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we reach the end of this story, it's time for the thank you's
> 
> My biggest thank you to all the people who have accepted to help me along the way : Veronica, for giving me her input and for beta-ing the first rough draft ; Misty, for beta-ing and for telling me what I was getting wrong about the American school system ; Gabby, for checking it once more before posting ; Angie, for encouraging me ; and all of you who showed an interest in the story when it was merely a nugget of a story in my mind ; and finally Teresa, aka monkeybutton, aka the fantastic artist who chose my story in this Big Bang and managed to get exactly what I had in mind

That night, Blaine can’t even try to go to sleep; there is too much adrenaline going in his veins.  
He can’t even paint to let it all out, he feels like the whole performance drained him from his painting “juices” for a little while.  
So he paces his apartment, letting out a giggle every now and then - out of excitement, out of the feeling of success, out of the feeling that he has not been imagining things and that he might have a shot at getting what he has been looking for forever - when his doorbell rings.

Blaine looks at the grandfather clock he has on his counter - it’s almost midnight (When did it get so late?), who could it be?  
Opening the door, Blaine finds his breath catching in his throat.  
Kurt is leaning against the doorframe looking at Blaine with dark eyes, the usually gray blue turning almost Prussian blue - an abysmal blue that Blaine would gladly drown into.  
“Kurt?” he asks softly, leaning against the door. “Please come in,” he adds, knowing that he doesn’t need the other man to give any explanation.

Kurt walks in and lets go of his jacket on the coat rack Blaine has near his entrance and turns to face Blaine.  
“So” he trails off, his voice low, lower than Blaine has ever heard it, and it sends shivers down his spine. “That was - interesting”.  
Blaine nods, his hands in his pockets. “That’s one way of describing it” he replies and Kurt cocks one eyebrow.  
“How would you describe it, then?” he asks, his voice soft and low like a warm drink, like the brightest of purple.  
“An enlightening experience” Blaine says, his voice vibrant with all the emotions that are resurfacing.  
Kurt cocks his head to the side and his eyes dart between Blaine’s lips and his eyes. “Pray tell” he asks, “What was brought to light today?”  
Blaine has a feeling Kurt must know what he means, but he can understand the need to properly hear it - he wouldn’t mind for some reciprocity, to be completely honest.  
Taking a deep breath, Blaine comes to stand closer to Kurt.

“Today, this afternoon” he starts, feeling like he has to get it all out, “it felt like a moment, for me. A moment when suddenly a light bulb goes on. A moment when you look at someone differently, when your heart expands -- when you say to yourself, ‘Oh, there you are, I’ve been looking for you forever’, you know?” he tries to explain as he looks up to Kurt, and the other man’s eyes are darker and filled with tears, a shy smile starts stretching his lips and Blaine feels like he’s having a shot of pure energy to go through.  
“I have been looking for you forever, Kurt” he says, feeling his own eyes fill with tears and he reaches for Kurt’s hands. “You move me Kurt, like no one has ever moved me - you’ve reawakened my love for music, my connection with music, my connection with my own art, with myself and-” Blaine says, pouring all his emotions out but he’s cut off by Kurt leaning forward and pressing his lips to his.

It feels like fireworks are exploding in Blaine’s brain as they kiss - vivid colors keep on appearing behind his closed eyelids, orange and blue, green and fuchsia, purple and silver.  
Blaine moves his head just a little bit to the side and Kurt lets out a breath, reaching to cup Blaine’s jaw with his hand while the other pulls Blaine closer.  
As for his own hands, Blaine wastes no time in reaching for Kurt’s waist, his fingers clasping and clutching the silky material of Kurt’s waistcoat.  
Kurt gently licks his lips and Blaine wholeheartedly opens his mouth to let Kurt in.

There is nothing rushed about that kiss, about the way they touch each other - if anything, it feels like they’re savoring everything that is happening.

All things considered, it took them long enough to get there, they might as well take their time now.

They do have the rest of their lives to experiment everything, together.


End file.
